


Cupid's Armed with a Loaded Gun

by ghostofnoodlewrap



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aromantic Sasha James, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Asexual Character, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Valentine's Day, set in season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29432106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofnoodlewrap/pseuds/ghostofnoodlewrap
Summary: It's Valentine's day in the Archives.Pining? Who said anything about anyone pining? How embarrassing would it be to be single and pining over your coworkers on Valentine's day?(Tim, Jon, and Martin just need a little push to get them together.)
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 38
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW:  
> -Jon (and later Sasha) walk in on Martin before he's dressed for the day  
> -Thirst  
> -Anonymous, unsolicited Valentine's gifts  
> -Martin has a humiliation kink (which he is trying to hide from Jon)

There is someone shouting Martin’s name. That’s really quite rude, because he’s trying to sleep.

Martin stirs, pushing himself up from the awful cramped cot and rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. “What?” He says.

The sleepiness is an act. There’s still a jolt of panic that goes through him, and Martin’s other hand slips beneath his pillow to wrap around the corkscrew he keeps there. It is not intended for late night drinks.

“Good _morning_ , Martin.” Jon says primly. “It’s so lovely to see that you’re ready for work this bright and early.”

Crap. Martin hurriedly gathers the sheets to his chest, aware of quite how few clothes he’s wearing, even though Jon is doing his best to stare the paint off the wall next to Martin’s head. Fucking hell. Sure, Martin has some fantasies that involve Jon bursting in on him mostly (or completely) naked, but none of them go quite this way.

“I must have forgotten to set my alarm.” Martin says weakly. He checks his phone. Dead. He needs to start remembering to plug it in. “I should start getting ready for work.”

“Yes.” Jon replies.

Martin hears the door into the Archives open as someone else arrives. Typical. Now two of his coworkers are probably going to catch him mostly naked. And he hasn’t even had the time to look in a mirror to see how much of a wild mess his hair is after sleeping.

“Are you going to just keep watching while I get dressed?” Martin asks pointedly.

“Oh, um, I-” Jon stutters out.

The footsteps come a little closer, but don’t round their way in view of the doorway, because apparently some people have senses of privacy and Jonathan Sims is not one of them.

“That is unless you want poor Martin to work only in his underwear for the rest of the day.” Sasha adds.

Scratch that. Sasha James definitely has no sense of privacy. Once Martin forgot his Facebook password and Sasha happily informed him what it was. And why that particular bundle of words and numbers should have been memorable to Martin. She could probably hazard more than just a guess at Martin’s ‘memorable information’ too.

Oh God. Sasha really shouldn’t say things like that if she’s unaware of the reaction it might elicit from Martin. Jon’s face flushes in embarrassment. Martin’s face flushes in embarrassment and also not a small amount of arousal.

The thing is, Martin can imagine it. Sure, Sasha’s not actually there in his imagination, but Tim and Jon are. Watching him, maybe even touching him, brushing past a little more often than usual. Commenting on how Martin’s underwear could never hope to hide how turned on he was by being humiliated.

Maybe Jon would tell him he didn’t deserve any clothing at all, and force Martin to take off - no. Now is not the time, although if he remembers it, Martin might come back to that alluring fantasy later on.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon says. “He’d get cold.”

“You know, that’s not the glaring issue with it!” Martin squeaks. He clutches the sheets just a little bit tighter against himself, as if that can somehow hide his body from Jon’s gaze. It does stop the crinkled sheets from slipping as he gets up and takes a couple of steps towards them.

“Oh, and what might that be then?” Sasha teases.

“Shut up!” Martin shouts, then winces a little as he sees Jon jump. “Both of you - out!”

Martin closes the door before Jon can do something worse like try and come in. Martin wouldn’t even have the wherewithal to stop him. His brain is still fried, running on too little blood as most of it was drawn south by a dream of hands and gasping that Martin can only half remember.

He dresses quickly - clean underwear, warm jumper, and a few other things besides. Like trousers. Those are important too. Then, as is his usual morning routine, Martin slips out of the un-alarmed fire exit, walks around to the front of the building, and into the lobby.

His commute has shortened considerably recently.

“Running a little late today, aren’t you Martin?” Rosie says.

Martin grimaces. He made a point to say hi to Rosie every morning when he first started at the Institute, and that’s resulted in a quick conversation most mornings since. And since Rosie would most definitely notice if Martin stopped arriving in the mornings, but was still in work, appearances must be kept up with.

So every morning he sneaks out of the back of the Institute and arrives like he didn’t stay over in the Archives. Rosie has a bit of a reputation as a gossip and Martin has no desire for the entire staff to know that he’s living in the basement.

“Forgot to set my alarm.” Martin admits. “The decorations are nice, did you do them yourself?”

“I did.” She says. “But it’s nothing much, really.” She waves a hand.

“No, really, they’re lovely.” Martin says.

They aren’t that bad. Maybe a little tacky, but then when aren’t hearts in three different shades of pink on the tacky side? At least there’s no naked toddler angels with bows and arrows. They’re not as much of an eyesore as what she put up for Christmas.

“You’re a sweetheart.” Rosie tells him. “Take a chocolate.” She proffers the bowl to him.

Martin takes one. He’d say it’s only to be polite, but he’s always been a sucker for sweets and the little morsel goes straight into his mouth. He murmurs his thanks around it.

Sasha’s already at her desk and logged into her computer by the time Martin gets back down to the Archives. Martin’s about ready to do the same - at least check his emails before he gets to re-filing Statements, when Jon calls him into his office.

Great. A dressing down first thing in the morning. Martin wonders how many Jon will manage to fit in today. The record so far is seven, but Jon was in a particularly irate mood that day. They don’t happen as often as when he first started in the Archives, though - Martin does learn.

Maybe one day he’ll be able to get through a week without Jon finding fault with his work.

Knowing how to do this job before he started would have been great, though. Martin’s not sure how Jon hasn’t worked out he is totally unqualified for this. It would be nice if he actually got some training instead of being thrown in the deep end and only learning how to do things by trial and error.

He walks into Jon’s office. The feeling in his stomach is more anticipation than dread.

Years ago, Martin would have thought that having these sorts of talks with his boss almost daily would have been too demotivating to carry on. But Jon doesn’t shout, even if he does rant a bit. Mostly he just sounds exasperated. Disappointed in Martin.

And that gets to Martin in ways that make something squirm low in his stomach. He’s never unpicked why that is. And he’s certainly never sat down and explained to Jon ‘hey, when you talk down to me and make out that I’m worthless, it turns me on in ways I cannot explain.’

“So, Martin, uh…” Jon scratches his head with one hand, and with the other he picks up a Valentine’s teddy from his desk and holds it out towards Martin. “This.”

Oh.

Martin’s first thought is ‘Jon must have got one of these for everyone’. There’s no way Jon could actually have feelings for him, right? You don’t treat people the way Jon treats him and actually _like_ like each other without some sort of prior negotiation. Negotiation Martin would remember if they’d had it.

(He wouldn’t be adverse. He’s gone out looking for someone to give him that kind of attention. But Martin’s never found anyone quite as good at making him feel small as one Jonathan Sims.)

But Jon’s holding it out to him, and Martin thinks he might even be able to spy a hint of a blush on Jon’s face. It’s a big gift for Jon to get everyone, not just a single piece of candy. And Martin suddenly realises this means something. 

“Oh. Is that?” Fuck, he can’t even string a sentence together. “Should I? The bear. For me?” 

Martin reaches for it, knowing he’s beginning to flush. But this is a sweet thing and Martin is pretty sure Jon means it as more than just a peace offering. Martin’s only just realising how long he’s waited for this moment - for Jon to look at him, and Martin to know it’s okay to lean in and-

“No.”Jon says, and Martin’s heart shatters. “It was left here. Last night, I presume. And you’re the only one here that late…”

It’s a gift for Jon, not from him then. Of course Martin wouldn’t be Jon’s only admirer. And Jon brought him in here just to… To what? Not to rub salt in the wound. Jon isn’t like that. But why else? Unless...

Martin is the only person staying over. Plenty of time to sneak something like that onto Jon’s desk. Except Martin wasn’t the one who did it.

“You thought _I_ put it there?” Martin says.

Martin briefly wonders if he did it in his sleep. But discounting the fact that Martin has never once sleepwalked in his life, where would he have even got the bear? It’s not as if Martin leaves the Institute much. And when he does, it’s never alone.

At least there’s no rent.

Martin tries to picture himself shopping for a Valentine’s day gift with Tim or Sasha in tow. They’d never let him live it down. If he did get a secret gift for Jon, it would need to be secret from Tim and Sasha as well.

“Well, I mean, uh…” Jon clears his throat. “It was here before I got in. And you were the only one here earlier.”

“And when was I supposed to have acquired this bear?” Martin asks, gesturing at the damned thing. “In case you forget, there’s an immediate worm threat whenever I go outside. So I don’t.”

“You literally went outside not five minutes ago!” Jon says. “And I know you sometimes go to lunch with Tim and Sasha.”

Martin sighs, and shakes his head. None of his lunches this week have involved a romantic gift, although he presumes he can hold out hope for the rest of the week. If Jon has a secret admirer, who’s to say Martin can’t have one as well?

“Jon.” Martin says. “Look. I didn’t get you that. Must have been someone else.”

“Who would even leave this?” Jon questions.

“I don’t know, maybe you have some sort of secret admirer?” Martin suggests. “Either that, or all the department heads got one from-”

“You think _Elias_ left me this?” Jon has a vaguely disgusted look on his face. Martin decides he’d been similarly dismayed if Elias had decided to leave him a Valentine’s day gift. “I suppose he does keep odd hours, and he has a key to get in here after it’s locked up.”

“I’ve seen him brush his teeth in the loos at ten at night.” Martin confesses. He has more than a half-formed theory that he’s not the only one sleeping at the Institute. After all, who ever sees Elias arrive in the morning or leave at night? “Either way, just accept the gift, heartbroken as I am.”

Martin tries for a smile, so that the last bit plays off as a joke, even though it isn’t. He’s not entirely sure he succeeds. It does hurt, more than a little bit.

“Look,” Jon says, “I’m sorry. Why don’t you take the chocolate?”

“Oh, um-” Martin says, but Jon is already removing the teddy bear’s little bag.

It’s not a brand Martin recalls ever having himself. That could mean it’s a little obscure, or it could mean it’s one of the brands that are frankly unnecessarily expensive. If supermarket brand chocolate bars were good enough for him growing up, then they’re good enough for him now.

Jon smiles shyly and Martin’s heart melts. It doesn’t mean anything, not really. At least, Martin tries to tell himself that.

It’s a pity his heart doesn’t listen.

* * *

Tim arrives well over an hour late and immediately gets called into Jon’s office for his sins. 

Martin promises to himself that he’ll put the kettle on after they’re done. If he’s going to make tea, it might as well be four cups, and like hell is he walking in there when Jon is giving someone other than him a bollocking. He doesn’t need to get dragged into it.

Martin may be aware that he’s infatuated with Jon, but Tim’s also been the subject of more than one late night fantasy. (And the ones that really get him drooling are when Jon and Tim team up together to - no. He can’t get distracted by that now.)

But Tim is funny as well as hot. Unreasonably hot at that. He tans in a way that speaks of time spent outdoors rather than chemical sprays, and Martin knows if he tried the same he’d probably end up with ten dozen new freckles and peeling skin. Tim’s body is pretty delicious too - more lithe than overly muscular with an unfairly pert arse that Martin would like to have a go at ploughing.

It’s downright awful that Martin feels this way about him. Having a thing for one coworker is awkward, but two? And at the same time? It’s just plain greed, but Martin can indulge, because it’s not like he’ll ever have either of them.

Tim flirts with him, but Martin doesn’t hold out much hope of that meaning anything, because Tim flirts with most people. He probably only has an interest in embarrassing Martin, as he so often comments on how much he enjoys it when Martin gets flustered.

Besides, Tim is way out of his league. Martin’s not entirely sure of the kind of people Tim dates, because he’s only met the one girlfriend, but she was a solid ten. A bit of a bitch, if Martin’s honest, but certainly nicer to look at than his soft and pale body.

Jon doesn’t keep Tim long. Not even ten minutes, so Tim can’t have really been in that much trouble. Jon stays in the office. 

“You were looking for a case, yesterday, weren’t you?” Sasha asks Tim. “I think Martin has an interesting one.”

“Yeah? Is ‘interesting’ code for ‘a complete pain in the backside’?” Tim asks. He turns to Martin “It might be difficult, but I’m sure I can handle anything you want to give to me?”

God. Tim’s not waggling his eyebrows, but Martin’s sure the double entendre was deliberate.

“I’m not sure I had an interesting case?” Martin says to Sasha.

“You did.” Sasha says. “You mentioned it right before I left yesterday. Something about-”

“You mean the ghost sex Statement?” Martin says.

“Ghost sex Statement?” Tim repeats. “Baby, have you been holding out on me?”

“He absolutely has.” Sasha says.

“Show it to me.” Time says. “No, no - read me the best parts in your sexy voice.”

“My sexy… You know what, have at it!” Martin says. He grabs the correct folder off his desk. It’s easy to identify from the ‘naughty ghosts’ post-it on the front. “I am going to make some tea.”

“Martin, darling, we could do a dramatic reading together. Let something else brew between us.” Tim says.

Martin flays around desperately for something to save him from this hell. His eyes settle on Sasha. “I think it’s het.” He says. “You’ll need to ask Sasha.”

“I can play the girl.” Tim says. “I don’t mind playing catcher if you’re the one pitching.”

Jesus fucking christ, hasn’t Tim got Martin sufficiently red yet? There’s not much further this could go without Tim pulling his trousers down, leaning over a desk, and yelling ‘take me now.’ Martin halfways wishes he would, just to see Tim’s face when he realises that Martin very much would take up that offer.

“Thirsty.” Martin says. “I am suddenly very thirsty. I need tea. Now.”

“I doubt you’re the only one.” Sasha mutters.

Tim gives a huff, but Martin can tell it’s put on. He does take the case from Martin though, which saves Martin from trying to get through it without clawing his eyeballs out. It’s more than likely to be someone’s attempt at a bad joke, or an exercise in creative writing anyway. All the erotic encounters with the supernatural tend to be.

Martin refills the kettle, up to the six servings line, because the kettle is stingy with measurements and the mugs Jon and Martin prefer are over-sized. All the better for extreme caffeination. While it boils, he sets out the accoutrements - milk from the fridge, teaspoons for the sugar and such. Then he opens the canister the tea bags are kept in.

There’s a pair of socks in it.

Martin’s first thought is ‘why are there a pair of socks in my tea-bag canister?’ (because it is _his_. He’s the one who makes all the tea, and in return the others buy the bags, milk, sugar, and any biscuits on offer).

Then he looks closer. There’s three pairs, all of them black with red hearts. In one pair, the hearts are just outlines, another has them solid, and the third has a mixture of the two. They’re still attached to the little hanger packaging thing from the store at the top.

If today is Valentine’s day, then these are probably a gift. And if they’ve been left in a place that only Martin would have a cause to look in, then they’re a gift for him. He checks for a label, because who the fuck would get him a present for today, and socks no less?

There is a note. Handwritten in neat calligraphy: _Be mine, Valentine._

No name, just like what was left for Jon. Could this be from Jon? Martin daren’t hope, even if this is the sort of slightly sensible gift he can imagine Jon giving. God, Jon is exactly the sort of person to only ever give socks as a present.

It’s near impossible to carry four mugs of tea at once, especially if Martin has to open the door to Jon’s office, so he has a little tray to carry them on. Today, the tray holds four mugs and three pairs of socks. Tim usually makes a joke about Martin’s tea service when he gets it out, but he’s thoroughly intrigued by the socks when Martin brings him his cuppa (no sugar, splash of milk).

“For me?” Tim says in a tone Martin is pretty sure is teasing. “You know you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s only the tea for you.” Martin says. “Apparently someone sees my value, because those were left for me.”

“Were they now?” Tim says. “I guess you’re someone’s secret crush, then.”

Martin snorts. As if.

It’s probably a joke, anyway. Or just someone trying to be nice. One of his co-workers, perhaps? In fact, Tim isn’t looking too surprised at the sight of the socks.

“Just admit you put them there.” Martin says with an eye roll.

Tim raises his hands in innocence. “Wasn’t me, mate.” He says. “Maybe I should have, though. Would it have been appreciated? I must admit, the few times I’ve had cause to get someone a Valentine’s gift, they’ve received something a little more… _interesting_ than socks.”

Martin can feel himself blush, and Tim smiles at it like it’s some kind of reward. Maybe, to him, it is.

Martin mutters his apologies and goes to take the others their tea.

Sasha is just leaving Jon’s office, which is weird, because Martin did not see her going in there. Then again, Tim had him thoroughly distracted, the awful, rotten, highly attractive man that he is.

God, if he likes Tim for his looks then he’s shallow, and if he likes Jon for his personality, then most people would consider him to have bad taste. Not that Tim’s personality is awful. And not that Jon isn’t attractive, albeit in more of a stuff academic or hot professor kind of way. Martin can get behind that. Jon can bend him over the desk and discipline him with a ruler any day.

“Tea?” Martin offers a mug to Sasha (two sugars, no milk, as she prefers when she can’t get green - and they’re out of that).

“You read my mind.” Sasha says. She pauses for a moment, listening. “I’d hold off for a moment or two on Jon’s. I think he’s just started recording.”

Martin strains his ears and he can hear Jon’s voice. And if Jon is alone in there, then it’s slightly more likely that he’s recording a Statement than talking to himself. Slightly.

“And let it go stone cold?” Martin says, although he doesn’t make any move to get past Sasha. No point going in there only to get shouted at. Again. It’s a pity that he doesn’t have an estimate on how long Jon will be tied up for.

“Like he’d end up drinking more than half of it anyway.” Sasha says. “I suppose he could reheat it in the microwave.”

Martin does not try to hide his scowl. He understands that there are several ways to make a cup of tea that are all as effective as each other. But then there are other ways. Ways that are a sin against tea.

“I’d decapitate him.” Martin says, quite seriously. “In fact, I’m going to drink his cup as well as mine now.”

“Even though it isn’t made to your liking?” Sasha says.

“Ehh.” He replies. “It’s not to his liking either. Whenever Jon’s a bitch to me, I don’t add quite enough milk or sugar to his tea.”

Jon hasn’t said anything about it, but Martin’s pretty sure he’s picked up on something. That Martin’s tea isn’t always that consistent, even if Martin takes pains to make sure it’s not bad. He can’t stoop that low. Whether Jon has realised that he only gets tea how he likes it when he’s nice to Martin, Martin isn’t sure.

“You are adorably petty.” Sasha says. “I see you no longer need help diverting yourself from Tim’s attentions.”

“Huh?” Martin says. He turns around to find Tim is no longer at his desk, his mug of tea left steaming on a coaster.

Well, if Tim’s not back before it’s cooled down too much, Martin might just be having three cups of tea and it will serve Tim right. Martin’s tea services are to be appreciated. Sasha is now his favourite coworker, and not just because she provides cake to go with said tea every Friday.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you made tea to escape him flirting with you.” Sasha says. “I can tell him to lay off if you want me to?”

“No.” Martin says. Sasha’s eyebrow quirks up, so she must be reading something into that. Fuck. “I don’t mind. I mean, I do, but… Look. I just. It’s nice, right? If infuriating. And I- it’s just. I mean it’s-”

“Mmmm-hmmm?” Sasha says, drawn out nice and long.

“Shut up.” Martin says.

“I didn’t say anything.” Sasha says.

Martin narrows his eyes at her a little. She didn’t need to use words to get her meaning across. It was plenty clear.

“Sure you didn’t.” Martin says.

“Okay, so maybe I did.” Sasha says. “Would you maybe like to elaborate on your earlier spluttering?”

“Sasha!” Martin says. Sasha just raises her eyebrows. “Tim is… I kind of like him, okay?”

“As in?” Sasha’s eyebrows somehow raise higher.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Martin says.

“I’m going to make you define what you mean when you say you _like_ him.” Sasha remarks.

“I mean I would quite like to strip him naked, pin him down to the cot, and have my wicked way with him!” Martin cries. “Crap, I-”

“Well now.” Sasha says. She’s grinning. Little arsehole.

Martin has often questioned just how Sasha gets ahold of some of the information she is in possession of. Well, if people are in the habit of just blurting out private things like that in front of her, Martin has a few more ideas now. Although that still doesn’t explain how she can recite Martin’s, Tim’s, Jon’s, and even Elias’ debit card numbers.

“What, we’re not kids.” Martin says. “I’m not going to say ‘I _like like_ him.’ No. I want to fuck the guy. And maybe also take him out for dinner or something. But like-”

Sasha’s staring at a spot over his left shoulders. Her face isn’t quite that of shock but…

“Crap, did he just walk in behind me?” Martin says.

“No.” Sasha says, and when Martin turns around to double check, she’s telling the truth. “Chance would be a fine thing. What about Jon?”

“What about Jon?” Martin parrots.

Oh God, he can feel himself sweating. It’s both from this conversation with Sasha and the adrenaline rush he got when he thought Tim had come back in. Not to mention the fact that they’re having this conversation right in front of Jon’s office (although, as Martin pauses and listens, he can still hear Jon speaking. Just faintly. So he won’t be coming out quite yet.)

“You like Jon too.” Sasha says.

“I do not like Jon too!” Martin replies.

“Oh my God, did you not even realise you have a crush on Jon?” Sasha does look a little shocked. “C’mon Martin, it’s so obvious it can be seen from orbit.”

He makes a face at her. He’s well aware of his feelings for Jon, just not ready to admit it. After all, who wants to admit they’ve fallen for someone who treats them horribly? Martin just has hopes that Jon’s prone to strong emotions concerning Martin for other reasons, if he ever chooses to examine them.

“Do you think Jon knows?” Martin asks. After all, if he’s that obvious about it…

Well, it would make sense that Martin can’t get on his good side. He knows he’s not actually as bad at the job as Jon sometimes makes out (and most of that can be blamed on the utter lack of training he’s had, or rather _not_ had, but no one’s called Martin out on his lies just yet).

If he’s that obvious, maybe Jon is just trying to keep him at arm’s length and destroy this stupid crush Martin has on him before it’s too late. But it just makes him want Jon more. Heck, Martin didn’t even realise he had a thing for humiliation and discipline before Jon started only his almost daily berations.

It’s just a shame that Martin’s fantasy of Jon pulling him over his lap and discipling Martin by spanking him will never become reality. Probably. Martin’s got to have a little hope.

“No.” Sasha says, which is frankly quite a relief. “If there’s anyone more oblivious than you, it’s him.”

“Thank God.” Martin says. “Wait, more oblivious than me? What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Oh honey,” Sasha says, shaking her head. “You know…”

“Tell me.” Martin demands.

“What Tim says, he really does mean.” Sasha says. “And Jon…” She pauses for a moment. “He might just be lashing out because he’s confused about how he feels. I haven’t got as strong a read on him, to be honest.”

“But you think…?” Martin says.

“I think Jon might like you more than either of you realise. Might not go anywhere, but…” Sasha says. “Tim on the other hand-”

“It’s pretty clear Tim is down for a casual fling.” Martin finishes. ‘If his flirting isn’t just a joke’ he doesn’t add. Sasha can be… strange at times. But Martin’s never found her to be outright cruel. She wouldn’t just set him up like this just to laugh at him. At least he’d like to think not.

“ _Casual_ isn’t really what he wants.” Sasha says. “And he might flirt fairly liberally with everyone, but I think he has a thing for you?”

“It isn’t? You think?” Martin says.

“Oh trust me, sweetheart,” Sasha replies, “I would know.”

\---

The Archives are kept at a constant and carefully controlled temperature. Martin knows this. It’s to provide longevity to the paper or something along those lines. He should probably know exactly why and what the various parameters are, but everyone just assumes it’s something he should know. While most of the Statements are contemporary, they have documents going back hundreds of years and Martin isn’t exactly sure how fragile they are, only that he goes out of his way to avoid working with them so that he doesn’t accidentally damage them.

Some of them are delicate little things that no one aside from Jon and Sasha are allowed to handle (because, apparently working in Artifact storage qualifies you to put on a pair of gloves and work with a piece of parchment that looks like it might splinter into fragments if you so much as breathe on it).

Despite the careful climate control, Martin always ends up feeling hot around midday.

This is likely as he likes to shelve documents before lunch, which usually occurs around half twelve. And while it isn’t that physical, Martin isn’t really all that fit, and all that walking back and forth and climbing up to reach the tall parts of the stacks takes its toll.

The consequence of this is, while he tends to put on a nice fluffy jumpy each morning, they tend to come off by midday.

Today’s jumper is an Argyle pattern in light blue, salmon, and a deep olive green. Martin knows the dangers of just leaving it lying around - there’s a few jumpers he’s left in odd places - on the break room table, on the chair to the spare desk no one uses and such - that clothing just seems to vanish from.

No one has owned up to it yet. (And Martin may have seen Jon in an oversized cream jumper the week after Martin lost a very similar looking cream jumper, but that’s circumstantial at best. Martin’s hunger to see Jon in his clothes must warp his perception).

So Martin takes it back to document storage to stash with the rest of his stuff, lest it go walkabouts.

The immediate problem he finds when he gets there is that someone has clearly rummaged through his things. The hold-all he keeps under the cot is half out from under the bed, its flap open and the belongings within disturbed.

Who would even go through his stuff like that?

Sasha, Jon, and Tim are the only ones who know he’s living down here. Or, at least Sasha, Jon, and Tim are the only people Martin knows that know he’s living down here. But they’d not do something like this, right? If they wanted some of his stuff, they’d at least ask, right?

Which can only mean that someone else knows.

Then again, it’s not like the Archives get no traffic. There’s been a few staff in from other departments - a couple of researchers, someone from IT (Sasha’s computer still won’t play ball), and even someone from Artifact Storage looking for a ‘missing’ bloody knife with teleporting abilities (Martin sincerely hopes that was a new employee being hazed. He certainly didn’t recognise her).

The jumper he took off is discarded on the bed as Martin drops to his knees to inspect the contents of his bag. There’s nothing he can determine as missing. In fact, as he makes a rummage of his own, his fingers brush against glossy paper hidden among his clean underwear. It appears his possessions have been added to instead.

It’s a small present, the paper red and shiny. There is no tag.

Martin runs a fingernail underneath the tape sticking down the paper. He half expects the thing to explode as he opens it. Wouldn’t that be a way to go? It would probably be the most exciting thing to have happened down her in the last hundred years or so. It’s not like the Archives see a large amount of violent deaths.

But it doesn’t blow up in his face. Inside is a small, heart-shaped box of chocolates, and a note. Martin tries to scrutinise the handwriting for clues, but it’s been printed onto average-looking printer paper. And unlike Sasha, he doesn’t have anywhere near the technical know-how to retrace who’s used the printers or what they might have printed.

So there’s no way to trace it back.

_My Dearest Martin,_

The note begins.

_I spend each and every day driven wild with distraction over thoughts of you. I hope deeply that you can find room in your heart for me, for I have found room for you in mine. I have arranged a little something on the roof for us. Meet me there at six in the evening, my sweet, if you wish to give me a chance (or should you merely wish to slake your own curiosity)._

_Yours wholly,_

_Valentine_

Still no name. Martin presumes it’s the same person who left the socks, because the odds of him attracting one secret admirer was scarce, let alone two. 

At least it doesn’t seem threatening, despite the place where he found it. Not all that personal in content, sure, but it may be that the giver doesn’t actually know him all that well. Quite likely if they’re not part of the Archives team. And he’s already ruled out Tim and Jon.

Martin leaves the chocolate in his bag (pushed back under the cot), but he tucks the note into his pocket. At least he has something to look forward to this evening. And he has to anticipate it, be an optimist. Because the only other thing he could feel regarding this is dread.

* * *

Work carries on as usual, even for the somewhat ‘holiday’ of Valentines, until a little after lunch. That’s when Jon calls Martin back into his office, his face stoney.

There’s a lump in Martin’s throat as he follows Jon through the door. Jon never has anything good to say to Martin in situations like this, and while the office is a little soundproofed, it’s far from perfect. This happening twice in one day is unusual, but not unheard of.

Martin lets the door shut behind him with a resolute thunk. Jon takes a seat at his desk. Martin knows better than to pull up a chair. He is to remain standing, at Jon’s pleasure.

Jon’s desk is a messy thing, strewn with stray bits of paper and old mugs and legitimate piles of cases. He’s still able to easily identify the one he wants - selecting the manila folder from the middle of a stack of about five identical looking ones. Jon flips it open and slides it across the desk to Martin.

“Would you like to explain this?” Jon asks.

Martin recognises it. He worked on this case a couple of days ago. It recorded just fine digitally when he tried it, so it wasn’t something he expected to catch Jon’s attention. But all cases cross Jon’s desk eventually (before being returned to his assistants to be correctly filed away).

“I, um-” Martin stumbles a little, because there’s nothing wrong with it as far as he can see.

"Form 9A Martin. You've filled it in incorrectly. Again."

"Oh." Martin says. "Right, I-"

"How many times do I need to tell you?" Jon says. "What am I going to do with you?"

Martin has several ideas. Several ideas that will never be voiced, because the words ‘punish me’ are poised on the tip of his tongue.

It’s not like he tries to fuck up to get Jon to berate him. He’s just learning on the job a lot more than Jon probably knows. And it’s not like he entirely enjoys this. It’s just the shaming thing turns him on like nothing else.

And it’s a solace that he knows, privately, that Jon is an absolutely crap manager. Not that Martin’s had a shortage of those in his life. But Jon never seems to tell Martin how to correct his mistakes, he only rubs Martin’s nose in the fact they were made in the first place and leaves Martin to try and put together what he’s meant to be doing.

“I will-” Martin stutters as Jon’s eyebrow raises. Disdain looks good on him. “I will try harder.”

“I suppose if you do, you might be able to do your work adequately.” Jon sniffs. “You are dismissed. You’ve taken up too much of my time already today. Martin?”

“Yes?”

“Do better.”

Martin doesn’t trust his voice not to crack, so he just nods and flees Jon’s office. The file with his mistakes in it is somehow back in his hand. Martin puts it on his desk, but decides he needs a break before dealing with it. After all, it requires a bit of concentration to try and work out how to do it, and right now he hasn’t got the blood to spare to fuel his brain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -Some asexual pining. Jon is aware that some his fantasies would be interpreted as a prelude to sexual activity if carried out, but that is not his intention.  
> -breif mention of aphobic previous partners and some internalised aphobia.

There are Valentine’s day decorations in the lobby. Jon says good morning to Rosie as he passes, but sneers at the pink hearts and streamers on principle, if not entirely out of hatred. There’s even a glass bowl of pink foil-wrapped chocolate hearts on Rosie’s desk, but Jon doesn’t even have to get close to know they’re bottom shelf quality, and he has standards when it comes to chocolate.

The Archives are, thankfully, unadorned. And they shall stay that way if Jon has anything to say about it.

Jon checks document storage before walking into his office to see if Martin - ah, yes. Still asleep. Jon glances at his watch, but he hasn’t come in an hour early (again, but he managed to pass it off as the clocks changing the last time. Even though they hadn’t). Martin should definitely be awake by now.

There’s a bizarre little part of Jon’s brain that says ‘no, let him sleep.’ That part of his brain has a sweet, soft voice, and Jon hates it. Martin does look out of it, though, sprawled as much as he can be on a cot that isn’t as long or wide as a twin bed. Jon knows for a fact it’s not a comfortable place to sleep, but Martin’s never complained, even if Jon has seen him rubbing at his lower back a little more often these days.

And if Jon lets Martin sleep on, he can keep standing here, watching. Martin’s much nicer to look at when he’s asleep and not distracting Jon by making a pig’s ear out of everything. And there’s a lot to look at - the sheet is tangled around Martin’s legs and he’s lost his shirt at some point in the night. It can get quite hot down here for sleeping, Jon knows, with the careful climate control that isn’t right for a bedroom.

Martin’s freckles go all the way down his back. Jon drinks in the sight with eagerness, despite the fact he didn’t know quite how much he wanted to know that before.

Then, abruptly, he realises how inappropriate this is.

Martin, his employee, is half naked and vulnerable in front of him. There are only two acceptable courses here - wake him up, or leave and stop staring at all that bare flesh like a weirdo. Jon opts for the first choice.

Jon clears his throat. Martin does not stir. Jon tries again, a little louder, hoping that this doesn’t end with him having to walk over and shake Martin awake. It’s not that the thought of touching the other man like this is repulsive, it’s just that Jon doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop.

“Martin!” Jon barks.

That is enough to get Martin shifting a blinking back up blearily. “What?” He says.

“Good morning, Martin. It’s so lovely to see that you’re ready for work this morning.” Jon says, eyeing him sternly. Then he realises that eyeing up Martin right now might not be the most tactful thing to do, so he focuses on a patch of wall above Martin’s left ear instead.

Martin scrambles up. There’s a slightly frantic look in his eyes as he takes in Jon. As if realising his nudity all at once, Martin snatches the covers and holds them up to his chest. Jon is surprised to feel as if that is a loss. He squashes that thought.

“I must have forgotten to set my alarm.” Martin says. “I should start getting ready for work.”

Always excuses with this one. Still, this is the first time since Martin’s been living down here that he hasn’t been dressed when Jon arrived. Excluding the time Jon came in at five in the morning after being unable to sleep, but that’s to be expected.

“Yes.” Jon says, hoping this will prompt Martin to get going with the morning. He doesn’t move.

Someone else arrives - Jon hears the door open and close. Jon doesn’t turn to greet them, but after they’ve hung their coat up, he can hear footsteps heading his way. Sasha, if he’s not mistaken.

“Are you going to just keep watching while I get dressed?” Martin asks, raising his eyebrows at Jon as if it’s a challenge.

Jon stammers a bit. ‘Yes’ is not an appropriate answer, even if Jon very much wants to watch. Jon tries not to question himself over _why_ he wants to watch - it’s not like he wants to take Martin to bed. But the other man is _very_ nice to look at, and he doesn’t want to stop looking.

“That is unless you want poor Martin to work only in his underwear for the rest of the day.” Sasha adds from somewhere behind Jon’s left ear.

Oh. There’s a thought. Jon watches Martin blush, but he’s sure it’s matched by the heat he can feel rising to his own face. Martin re-shelving documents in only those little boxer shorts. Jon resolves to come back to that image at a later date to analyse how it makes him feel.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon says. “He’d get cold.”

“You know, that’s not the glaring issue with it!” Martin says, his voice going all strangled at the end.

“Oh?” Sasha asks. “And what might that be, then?”

“Shut up!” Martin says, loudly enough that Jon startles. “Both of you - out!”

Then he shuts the door in Jon’s face, giving Jon just enough time to step back so that his nose isn’t caught in the cross-fire. That’s not to say that he wasn’t sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but…

Sasha pulls him away from the door. Probably for the best, because Jon is still a little stunned from that whole thing. He drifts towards his office not fully consciously, turning the handle and letting himself in on rote.

There’s a bear sitting on Jon’s desk. Jon blinks once, but it doesn’t disappear. It’s the stuffed sort that all the supermarkets are selling - in fact Jon would bet he’s seen this teddy’s exact match in Tesco only last week. A small cellophane bag of chocolates is held between its arms.

Jon picks it up.

There’s something written on the bear’s stomach, underneath its package of chocolate. Jon brushes the cellophane to one side. ‘Someone likes you’ is embroidered on its stomach in pink thread.

Well then, that makes it entirely inappropriate as a friendly token, and in all likeness, wholly untrue too. No one _likes_ Jonathan Sims.

Jon makes a quick list of people who could have got in here and placed the thing. That list starts and ends with Martin. There is something quick and animal that squirms low in his stomach at the thought, and Jon can’t quite tell if it’s thrill or dread.

Martin isn’t supposed to like him. Hell, half of the way Jon treats Martin is to ensure that his own definitely-not-a-crush doesn’t develop into anything more. Certainly not anything reciprocated. That would be the height of impropriety. And still, just the thought of Martin sneaking in here last night to leave this for Jon has a smile sneaking onto his face.

But that doesn’t change the fact that Jon will need to speak to the other man. This is, afterall, highly inappropriate. He’s Martin’s boss for Christ-sake. Jon waits until he hears the door to the Archives again - then waits a little longer to confirm it’s not Tim (and where even is Tim this morning, he’s normally here by now?) - before calling Martin into his office.

Anyway, it’s not like Martin would actually want to be with Jon. Not if he knew about all of Jon’s little… eccentricities. Jon’s been told far too many times that it’s far too difficult to navigate all of his little boundaries, and he should either give them up, or find someone as immature as him to date (those lovers got the boot, but it stings enough that Jon still believes it, sometimes).

“So, Martin,” Jon begins, unsure of how to actually proceed, “uh… This.”

He thrusts the bear out at Martin, who begins stammering. Oh look, it appears they’ll both be equally as incoherent throughout this conversation. Great.

“Oh. Is that? Should I?” Martin begins, smiling softly. “The bear. For me?” 

Jon stops him before he can string together a full sentence. “No.” He says. “It was left here. Last night, I presume. And you’re the only one here that late…”

Martin looks crestfallen, like he really wanted some cheap tat from Jon, and Jon does his best not to wince. Maybe he’s jumping to conclusions? But who else could it be?

“You thought _I_ put it there?” Martin says.

Fuck. He could have played this off as a gift for Martin. Made it into a romantic confession perhaps? No - that’s too much. Just a gift. A gift saying Jon liked him, given to Martin on valentine’s day. It would have had, uh, ramifications. But if Martin isn’t adverse…

Of course he is, though. He doesn’t think of Jon like that. Or he wouldn’t if he knew what Jon was really like outside of whatever biased view Martin has probably built for himself.

“Well, I mean, uh…” Jon starts. “It was here before I got in. And you were the only one here earlier.”

“And when was I supposed to have acquired this bear?” Martin asks. “In case you forget, there’s an immediate worm threat whenever I go outside. So I don’t.”

“You literally went outside not five minutes ago!” Jon says. “And I know you sometimes go to lunch with Tim and Sasha.”

“Jon.” Martin says. “Look. I didn’t get you that. Must have been someone else.”

“Who would even leave this?” Jon questions.

“I don’t know, maybe you have some sort of secret admirer?” Martin suggests. “Either that, or all the department heads got one from-”

“You think _Elias_ left me this?” Jon shouts, suddenly doing a double take. He can’t imagine Elias holding a cuddly soft toy. “I suppose he does keep odd hours, and he has a key to get in here after it's locked up.”

“I’ve seen him brush his teeth in the loos at ten at night.” Martin says, which just raises more questions than answers. “Either way, just accept the gift, heartbroken as I am.”

“Look,” Jon says, “I’m sorry. Why don’t you take the chocolate?”

Martin stammers a little as Jon pries the bag out of the teddy’s grip and passes it over. Martin hesitates a bit, but he takes it after Jon smiles as if to say ‘go on.’ It shouldn’t hurt so much to smile at Martin like that.

It’s actually a decent brand of chocolate. Something Jon wouldn’t mind eating himself, but he can live with giving Martin something of note. If he were to get Martin a Valentine’s gift (and this does not qualify, much as he’d like it to qualify), it would have to be of a certain quality.

And if this is as close as Jon can come to giving someone he likes a gift on Valentine’s day, then so be it. It’s worth it for the way Martin smiles and blushes. It’s worth it even if it could never be enough.

* * *

Jon looks at his watch when he hears Tim arrive and greet his co-workers. It’s twenty past ten and Tim is going to have to be spoken to about this. It’s strange, because the man has never had an issue with punctuality before, and Jon knows for a fact that Tim is capable of texting ahead if it looks like he’s going to be held up by means beyond his control.

Hell, once it got to ten o’clock, Jon half expected to hear that Tim had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. But that’s ridiculous. Whoever would want to kidnap someone who works in an Archive? Jon and his coworkers hardly have a high octane sort of job.

Jon opens the door so that his voice can carry a little better, but he doesn’t bother stepping through it. Tim can come to him. “Tim,” Jon calls, “a word?”

“Coming.” Tim replies, his gritted teeth audible, and Jon can hear him walk towards the office.

Jon knows what Tim looks like. Jon knows what Tim looks like, has known it for years, but that never makes seeing him for the first time each day any less devastating.

Tim is an attractive man. Jon knows Tim is an attractive man, would consider himself attracted to Tim, even, just not in the same way other people seem to be. It’s easy to look at Tim. It might even be nice to touch him, just a bit.

But Jon’s never quite got what people mean when they say someone has sex appeal. He doesn’t want to sleep with Tim. He’s just very nice to look at. Easy on the eyes.

A month or so ago, Tim came back from a short holiday with photos from his excursion, which he happily showed off. There’s one Jon can’t get out of his head - in it, Tim stands shirtless and sweating at the top of a cliff he’d just climbed. 

Tim has abs, Jon had learned. They’re right there now, under Tim’s shirt, although Jon can’t see them despite how hard he stares as Tim walks into his office.

So no, Jon doesn’t want to fuck Tim, thank you very much. He just wants to remove Tim’s shirt and see if his muscles really are as hard and defined as they looked in that photo. That’s all.

(Okay, that isn’t all, because Tim is also kind and funny and Jon likes spending time with him. But Jon has already admitted that his crush on Martin is unacceptable, so he couldn’t possibly also nurse a candle for Tim too. That would be inconceivable.)

“You know, I really do value punctuality.” Jon says. He stands a good two meters from Tim, because if he got any closer he’s not sure he’d be able to resist the urge to try and touch.

“I have the police report for the Tennyson Statement.” Tim says, like that explains his tardiness. If it’s even connected.

“What?” Jon says, as he doesn’t get the connection.

The name ‘Tennyson’ does ring a bell, but Jon’s not sure which case it actually is. Probably not an interesting one. Probably not one of the ones he can’t get to record - those always make a mark in his memory.

“Sorry, can’t remember the number. It’s the one you wanted a police report for. As soon as possible.” Tim says.

That jogs Jon’s memory. Something he’d been working on towards the end of last week, but there’s no more headway to be made without that police report. A police report he’d asked Tim to ‘acquire’ yesterday, right before Jon found this awful Statement about clockwork figurines that only came out as hissing static when he tried to record it digitally.

“Oh.” Jon says. “That.”

He reaches for it, but Tim doesn’t hold it out for Jon to take. Tim’s mouth is set in a hard line. He looks tired. 

Jon abruptly realises that to get this so quickly, Tim must have either had a late night or a very early morning. A late night or early morning where he…

Oh. It _hurts_ , actually goddamn _hurts_ , to think about Tim with another man. Jon only has fleeting half-formed thoughts of some of the things Tim might have done to get this document, and he’s jealous, despite the fact he has no real desire to take the stranger’s place.

“My contact isn’t exactly the kind of guy who I’d normally be interested in giving a dose of the Tim Stoker charm to, you know. Not that I mind that much.” Tim says. “There’s just people who I’d rather do.”

Jon watches as Tim’s eyes rake down his body and then back up again. Jon gulps. Oh. 

“Thank you for doing it, for getting it for me.” Jon says. “You don’t know how much easier you’ve just made my day.”

He needs to get Tim out of here quickly. Before something happens that Jon might regret. Jon’s not even sure what that thing might be. He can’t help himself smiling at Tim. There are things running through his head that end at something much more than a _smile._

He could step in close to Tim. He could see if the muscles in Tim’s arms are really as big and firm as they look. He could stretch that half inch up to meet Tim’s lips and-

“Any time, boss.” Tim says.

Fuck.

It’s a good thing that Tim leaves after that, because Jon collapses in his chair and doesn’t manage another coherent thought for at least twenty minutes.

It just so happens that the end of that twenty minutes is when Sasha walks into his office. She does knock, but she also doesn’t make any effort to wait for Jon’s reply before she comes in.

“I’ve got one I don’t think will record.” Sasha says. She holds the file out to him, held only between her index finger and thumb, like she wants as little contact with it as possible. “Be warned, it’s kinda gross.”

“Have you tried recording it?” Jon asks.

“No.” She says.

Jon rolls his eyes at her. Internally. It wouldn’t be professional to actually roll his eyes at her and now that he’s been promoted to a department head, he really does need to work to put on a professional veneer.

“Then how do you know it won’t? Maybe you should try it before you give it to me.” Jon says. Managing expectations, and delegating tasks. Both things a reasonable manager does. And to think he was worried he’d need _training_ for this role.

“The Statement giver died less than a week after giving this, from what was described as ‘a chronic pulmonary condition’ - and I didn’t look too hard into what that means - despite having a clean bill of health three months earlier.” Sasha says. “And there was a book involved. Leitner wasn’t mentioned, but…”

“You think it’s tied to a Lietner.” Jon finishes.

If he never hears the word ‘Leitner’ again it will be too soon. Even Leitners pierce the veil of ‘skeptic’ that he’s put on (and sometimes he plays it so well he believes it himself). There’s just no way to explain what those books seem to be capable of, and Jon has seen some of the ones Artifact Storage has in action - it’s a bit of a rite of passage at the Institute.

“So do you want a look?” Sasha asks.

“Not particularly.” Jon says, but he takes the file anyway. Sasha does not try to hang on to it.

“It’s either that or sit in here and mope.” Sasha tells him with a wide grin.

“Mope? What would I even have to-” Jon exclaims. “I am very busy and I do not have time for moping-”

“Could have fooled me.” Sasha says. “Not a fan of Valentine’s day?”

“It is a terrible and over-commercialized holiday designed to make people buy more chocolate.” Jon says. “You either have someone to give chocolate to, or you buy a load of chocolate because you’re single and the whole business makes you miserable.”

He also had an ex who broke up with him the week before Valentine’s day, when Jon had already spent a great deal of time and frankly more money than he could afford on what they were to do on the fourteenth. Not that Sasha needs to know that.

“Chocolate which will all be really cheap tomorrow.” Sasha says. “I’ve already cleared out a cupboard at home and I plan to buy enough to make it last until the Easter stuff goes on clearance.”

“You know, saint Valentine didn’t even have anything to do with love!” Jon says. “And we don’t even know who he actually was, because two blokes named Valentine, or something close to it, were executed on February fourteenth by Emperor Claudius.” He pauses for a breath. “The church just cannibalised the Lupercalia and-”

“I don’t know what the Lupercalia is.” Sasha says.

“It was a Roman fertility festival held on the fifthteenth.” Jon says. “Drunken debauchery, possible orgies, and lots of hitting each other with sticks.”

“All the sort of things the church doesn’t like.” Sasha says. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” Jon says.

“I don’t mind.” Sasha says.

“As your boss, I mind.” Jon replies.

“Going to tell me to get back to work?” Sasha says with a grin.

“Yes.” Jon says.

“Aight, I’m going.” Sasha says. “Have fun with that creepy statement.”

She leaves.

Jon sits for a minute before the urge to look at the Statement gets the better of him. There’s so many things he needs to do. Things that are far higher on Jon’s priority list than recording some old Statement that may or may not record digitally. And yet his fingers are itching.

Jon sighs. He pushes aside the paperwork he was working on. It will still be there later. He opens one of the desk drawers - not necessarily where he last left the tape recorder, but he doesn’t even need to lean down to look for it. It’s right there when his fingers reach for it.

Jon begins to record.

* * *

Jon comes out of the Statement feeling slightly dazed. Like the story he was reading, the world shaped from the words on the paper, was a more convincing reality than what he’s living through. Which is strange to consider, because he’d take flesh eating (and most certainly supernatural, even when he tries to convince himself they’re not) worms over a spider that’s always just over your left shoulder, but is never there when you turn and look for it.

It doesn’t matter. He records the end notes, citing that the chronic lung problem was possibly missed in the previous medical report, and that Statement giver likely either suffered from the same paranoid schizophrenia he mentioned an aunt having, or required a trip to the optician. Or both.

The Statement goes back in its file, along with the paper copy of the end notes. Jon places it in his out-tray, ready for one of his assistants to look at, probably tomorrow. Or maybe later in the week. A bit of a back-log has been growing.

He can’t link it directly to Martin, but it’s probably Martin’s fault.

There’s a growing stack of documents for him to look at too. Jon sighs, and reaches for the one on the top of the pile. He sees Martin’s signature on the files inside and there’s a sinking feeling in his guts.

It’s not that he looks upon it with glee and scours it for mistakes. It’s just, statistically, he finds something wrong with every single one of the cases Martin handles. He makes a point of showing Martin what he’s done wrong, because from experience, they don’t tend to be one off things. If Jon doesn’t point out the shortcomings in Martin’s work, he’s doomed to see them over and over again.

Jon rubs at his temples to ease the oncoming headache before he calls Martin into his office.

Martin’s a ball of nerves as he walks in. That much is clear. It appears that he knows he’s in trouble and is just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Jon sits back down at his desk, but Martin remains standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again.

“Would you like to explain this?” Jon asks, pushing the file across the desk so that Martin can look at it.

“I, um-” Martin stumbles. Jon resists the urge to roll his eyes, because the mistakes are right there and glaring.

"Form 9A Martin. You've filled it in incorrectly. Again."

"Oh." Martin says. "Right, I-"

"How many times do I need to tell you?" Jon says. "What am I going to do with you?"

It’s ridiculous, really, that Jon is tasked with this. With dressing Martin down like a naughty school-child. Martin’s roughly twice his size, even if neither of them could really be classified as an ‘alpha male’, it’s pretty clear which of them would win in a fight. Standing next to each other, Jon scarcely comes up over Martin’s shoulders.

Martin could easily overpower Jon. Could pin up against the wall or down on the floor and Jon would be powerless to stop it. Jon thinks about that sometimes, wondering what it would be like. There’s not much more to the fantasy than that - it’s more in the act than what would happen after Martin got him pinned - but sometimes he thinks of Martin lying on top of him until Jon gets tired enough to sleep.

Martin looks flustered.

Jon has the sudden ridiculous thought that Martin can read minds. What must he think of the inside of Jon’s head? Of the thoughts he was having? Of what he wants (does he want it, _really_? Or is it an idle thought?) Martin to do to him?

But the mere thought of that is patentably ridiculous. If Martin had a superpower, it wouldn’t be anything as useful as mind-reading. He’d get something useless, like the ability to identify poison by tasting it.

“I will…” Martin says. His eyes cast around the room and Jon raises his eyebrows. “I will try harder.

“I suppose if you do, you might be able to do your work adequately.” Jon says. “You are dismissed. You’ve taken up too much of my time already today.” Jon waits until Martin is nearly at the door. “Martin?”

“Yes?”

“Do better.”

* * *

Jon makes it to the bottom of the ‘to-do today’ pile at around half four. He always pushes himself to do a case or two more than that, but the work day isn’t over for another half hour (and he already knows he’ll be staying later than that).

The last case isn’t actually a folder on his desk, just a post-it with the case number and its location. That’s because the documents concerned are from the mid eighteenth century (1758 to be precise) and are too fragile (and valuable) to be kept the same way the rest of them are.

One of the assistants found it yesterday, Tim, Jon thinks, in a box of cases from the late eighties. It took all three of them to bring it to him, though, because apparently the oldest document they’ve unearthed so far is a bit of an occasion. It’s a wonder it’s survived at all.

Jon was too busy to deal with it then and there, but he produced the key for the antique document storage (which is a fancy name for an expensive cabinet) and stowed it correctly with the promise of getting to it today. It’s far too fragile for any of them to deal with (and honestly, Jon’s somewhat nervous himself, but at least he’ll only have himself to blame if he mistreats it ).

The others might be excited, but honestly, Jon isn’t looking forward to it. The chance of that parchment splintering into pieces is far too great. He knows documents from that time period aren’t necessarily so fragile they’ll obtain damage if you so much as look at them wrong, but it hasn’t been treated like it should have been.

No doubt the quality will have degraded and he’ll probably be spending the next couple of hours battling with faded ink.

Jon retrieves the key to the locker from his desk drawer. He gets halfway across the room before deciding he should probably be wearing gloves for this too. They do that in the history documentaries he’s seen, and that’s the closest thing he’s had to training for this sort of thing.

Jon’s plans for trying to get to grips with mid eighteenth century language are dashed when he opens the locked cabinet. There’s a human heart in it.

His own heart skips a couple of beats, before Jon gets a good look at it and discovers it’s actually just a shockingly accurate replica. No red blood stains his white gloves when he reaches out and touches it. There’s a little give to the structure, not the hard plastic he was expecting. His gorge rises slightly.

It’s heavier than he expected when he picks up, as if the thing is solid, or filled with fluid. The last one isn’t true, but the former could be.

It’s a threat, Jon decides. Why else would someone leave a replica of a heart in a place only he has access to? After all, it’s Valentine’s day today, not halloween. At least they had the decency to not leave him a real one and wreck some of the Archives oldest and most expensive texts while they were at it.

Jon examines it. It’s anatomically correct, at least from the outside and his limited memory of GCSE biology. There’s a note, tightly furled up in what he’s pretty sure is the aorta. He did always struggle to remember which blood vessel was which, but he knows that one connects to the heart.

Jon pulls the tightly coiled piece of paper out of the (plastic? foam?) tube with hands that are only trembling slightly, thank-you-very-much.

_My Dearest Jon,_

It begins. Jon gulps.

_I am consumed by thoughts of you. They plague me night and day. I can restrain no longer - my feelings on this issue are stronger than I could have ever anticipated. I long to feel your skin beneath my fingers._

_Come to the roof at six tonight. I shall be waiting for you._

_Yours,_

_Valentine_

Yes. Most definitely a threat.

No one but Jon has the keys to this cabinet. No one even knows where he keeps them. His assistants all knew he’d be going in here today. One of them was probably waiting for the shriek they expected him to make upon finding this grotesque display.

Jon will give them no such satisfaction. Confronting them and trying to work out which of them (could it only have been them? How many people have been down in the Archives today? How many of them could have got into his office. Jon’s not been out of it for more than about half an hour at a time) it was is tempting, but overly risky.

If he can play it off like he never found this sick invitation, then he can catch them unawares on the roof. That’s better than the option of not going, because he has to know who sent this. Who’s got these sick, twisted feelings.

Jon hides the heart in the bottom drawer of his desk, where all the things he doesn’t want to look at live. He slips the note into his pocket and begins to mentally compile a list of things he can arm himself with (without looking too suspicious) ready for the rooftop confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess who managed to break their laptop? Again?
> 
> Updates for this fic should still be weekly (as I've only got the very final scene to write now), but if you follow some of my other stuff, it might be a bit slower coming as I try to get used to writing on my phone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -Breif mentions of biphobia  
> -Tim has somewhat explicit fantasies about both Jon and Martin. He is unaware that Jon is ace.  
> -Bondage is briefly mentioned but there isn't any in the fic.  
> -Tim and Sasha discuss their one night stand and why it is not to be repeated (boiling down to Sasha being aro and Tim wanting more than just a casual relationship)  
> -A bottle of sparkling wine is opened very incorrectly. Please do not try at home, they do it completely wrong.  
> -Relationship negotiation, which includes Jon stating he is not comfortable with sexual activity.

Tim doesn’t need to look at his watch to know he’s running late. The rush hour traffic on the tube has long since abated. Tim had already passed the point of ‘going to be late to work’ when he met Al in his flat for breakfast.

A breakfast date. On Valentine’s day. What was he even thinking? He’s lucky to have escaped without a proposal (even if there had been a proposition).

But Jon said yesterday that he urgently needed access to some police files, as quickly as possible. By tomorrow, if possible. And would Tim mind flexing his police contacts and getting them? And well, when Jon’s anxious and makes that little smooshed up face, Tim gets weak with the want to smooth out those wrinkles. 

So he said ‘yes, of course’ like a fucking chump.

Yesterday afternoon he called Al, told him no, he wasn’t planning on a booty call, but would you like to meet for breakfast tomorrow? And forgot entirely the significance of ‘tomorrow’ in the dating world.

Al got him fucking flowers.

The thing is, he doesn’t even like Al like that. He’s useful to keep around, and that’s the truth of the matter. He could have been Tim’s type, once, back when they first met and Tim didn’t know quite what went into a person who decides to become a cop. But now he’s just stringing the other man along, giving Al just enough attention to remain interested without having to take him to bed.

How long he can keep this arrangement running, Tim isn’t quite sure.

He could say no to Jon’s request. He knows that. Flirting with cops for information isn’t part of his job description. Probably can't legally be made part of his job description either. But he knows it makes a real difference to Jon - to what the team does, really. And Jon always asks so nicely, and to be honest, Tim is more than a little smitten with his boss.

The other thing is, Tim isn’t as easy as his reputation makes out. He’s a serial dater, sure, sometimes with more than one person at a time. And he falls for people at the drop of the hat. He just can’t get anyone to fall back.

But going on a lot of dates, hoping to make a connection, does not translate into lots of casual sex. That’s never really been Tim’s scene. (That's not to say he always turns people down at the end of a date, but…)

There seems to be some preconceived notion of attractive bisexual people, and Tim doesn’t really fit them. Over the last couple of years, he’s met several people he’s sure could be the one, until they come out as ‘only wanting a bit of fun.’ His longest relationship in the last year lasted three weeks.

Instead, he resigns himself to slowly falling more and more for each of his coworkers. There’s no official rule that only hot people may work in the Archives, but it seems to be observed anyway. And Tim spends so much time with all of them! It isn’t quite the same as taking them out on a date, but he knows Sasha’s parent’s names, and Martin’s favourite colour, and that Jon doesn’t really like sweet snacks unless it’s expensive dark chocolate. More information than he’d get out of the average date.

Sasha’s lovely. Attractive as well as funny. Tim’s been there, once, and could have easily fallen for her, game over. But it appears they were always on different pages. She’s aro, but didn't exactly tell Tim that until, y'know _after_. Thought there were no strings attached. And as much as it pained Tim, he can respect that. You can’t change someone’s identity, no matter how much you want them to be what you want them to be.

Lord knows Tim’s been with too many people who have told him to ‘just pick a side.’

The lobby is empty aside from Rosie by the time he arrives at the Institute. Tim blinks at surprise at the decorations up. They’re a little cheesy, but also totally in character.

“And what time do you call this, Mr. Stoker?” Rosie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“A relaxed start to the morning.” Tim replies. 

“Alright for some!” Rosie says.

“I’ve actually been out on field work since seven.” Tim admits. Put a right wrench in his plans for a morning jog. The weather was exactly right for it today too - no rain (and in _February_ ) and mild enough overnight that there wasn’t a frost

“Don’t let that boss of yours overwork you.” She says.

“Accusing me of slacking and of being overworked in the same conversation. Rosie, I’m wounded.” Tim says.

Really though, he doesn’t have time to stay and chat. As Rosie pointed out, he is running very late, so he waves his goodbye and heads on down into the Archives.

Everyone else is already in, as expected. Sasha doesn’t say anything about his tardiness, just raises an eyebrow.

“Good morning, guys.” Tim says.

“Nice to see you this morning.” Sasha says.

“Same.” Martin adds.

Tim gives Martin one of his Stoker-brand smiles, just to fluster him a little. It works - Martin startles a little and abruptly finds something else to do while he’s cheeks slowly flush.

Martin would be the perfect boyfriend, if he wasn’t entirely too good for Tim. He’s nice, and Tim would really like to see how far down the freckles go, and whether, when Martin gets very red, his chest flushes as well as his face and neck. He deserves someone normal. Someone with less baggage than Tim.

Someone who didn’t end up at the Institute chasing answers that are probably even more sinister than what caused the questions in the first place. Tim is going to find out exactly what happened to Danny one day, or die trying. And it wouldn’t be right to drag Martin into the cross-fire.

“Tim?” Comes Jon’s voice from the depths of his office. “A word?”

Tim sighs, but this was inevitable. Jon could have at least waited until Tim had put his bag down. Sasha walks past him on her way to the sink and mouths ‘you’re in trouble’ at him. Tim rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Coming.” He calls out to Jon.

“You know, I really do value punctuality.” Jon says before Tim has even had a chance to sit down. They both end up remaining standing.

“I have the police report for the Tennyson Statement.” Tim says.

“What?”

Jon looks a little confused, so Tim decides to refresh him. Jon could at least be thankful that Tim worked his pert little arse off to acquire this information, and he doesn’t even have expenses to bill.

“Sorry, can’t remember the number.” Tim says, letting just a little attitude slip into his tone. “It’s the one you wanted a police report for. As soon as possible.”

“Oh. That.” Jon reaches for it. Tim makes no effort to offer it to him.

“My contact isn’t exactly the kind of guy who I’d normally be interested in giving a dose of the Tim Stoker charm to, you know.” Tim says. “Not that I mind that much. There’s just people who I’d rather do.”

Tim lets his eyes rake up and down Jon at that. Doesn’t let Jon know which side of the divide he falls on, even if Tim’s pretty sure it’s abundantly obvious that he’d take Jon to bed in a heartbeat. Maybe getting laid would help Jon relax some.

There is a fine line with how snarky you can be to your boss. But there’s also a fine line with how far outside their job descriptions you can make your employees go. And Tim is very much certain that ‘go flirt with a policeman until he gives you confidential information’ falls well outside the remit of what he’s supposed to do as an Archival assistant.

“Thank you for doing it, for getting it for me.” Jon says. “You don’t know how much easier you’ve just made my day.”

And then Jon smiles.

Jon isn’t quite the same person as the young(er) researcher Tim met a few years ago. He isn’t quite the same person Tim decided he could be friends with. He isn’t the same person that Tim later decided could be more than a friend, if Jon was willing. If Jon dates men (and Tim _thinks_ he might. Jon just doesn't read as _straight_.)

None of that stops the queasy fond feeling in Tim’s chest. There are butterflies in his stomach and they’re holding a table tennis tournament.

“Any time, boss.”

* * *

“You were looking for a case, yesterday, weren’t you?” Sasha asks when Tim comes out of Jon’s office. “I think Martin has an interesting one.”

Jesus, he hasn’t even had a chance to sit down yet and he’s already being saddled with work. There is no rest in this place. The cot in document storage is a lie, because no one is actually allowed a moment to themselves here.

“Yeah.” Tim replies. “Is ‘interesting’ code for ‘a complete pain in the backside’?” He turns to face Martin with a bit of a grin. “It might be difficult, but I’m sure I can handle anything you want to give to me?”

He follows that up with a wink, just to drive in the double meaning, but it’s probably not necessary, as Martin is so red there can’t be any thoughts going through his head. Any blood that’s not in Martin’s flaming cheeks is likely…

Well, somewhere Tim wouldn’t mind getting acquainted with.

“I’m not sure I had an interesting case?” Martin squeaks. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and it’s somehow both very cute and very sexy. That just about sums up Martin's existence.

“You did.” Sasha says. “You mentioned it right before I left yesterday. Something about-”

“You mean the ghost sex Statement?” Martin says, sounding more alarmed.

Tim is disappointed to have been left out of this. How could Martin have told Sasha about this and decided not to let Tim know too? Truly unfair. Complete bollocks.

“Ghost sex Statement?” Tim repeats. “Baby, have you been holding out on me?”

“He absolutely has.” Sasha confirms.

“Show it to me.” Time says. Then he has a better idea. “No, no - read me the best parts in your sexy voice.”

It is a nice voice. Not as nice as Jon’s, particularly when he gets all serious and deep (God, there are things Jon could order Tim to do and Tim would do them without hesitation. Sometimes he thinks about Jon giving him orders when he jerks off), but still pretty damn good.

“My sexy… You know what, have at it!” Martin says. He picks up one of the folders from his desk and thrusts it in Tim’s direction. Tim takes it. There’s a post it on it that helpfully labels it as ‘naughty ghosts.’ Tim does not recognise the handwriting, so Martin can't have been the first to discover it.

“I am going to make some tea.” Martin says, and he stomps away.

“Martin, darling, we could do a dramatic reading together. Let something else brew between us.” Tim says, giving Martin his best sultry look.

Martin looks anywhere he can except Tim. His eyes settle on Sasha. “I think it’s het.” He says. “You’ll need to ask Sasha.”

“I can play the girl.” Tim says. “I don’t mind playing catcher if you’re the one pitching.”

He lets just one eyebrow raise at that. Couldn’t give Martin more of an open invitation if he tried. It’s all Tim can do to hope that Martin might decide to take him up on one of them one day.

“Thirsty.” Martin says. “I am suddenly very thirsty. I need tea. Now.”

“I doubt you’re the only one.” Sasha mutters.

Tim’s ready with his next retort, but Martin’s already rushing towards the kitchenette. Thwarted. Martin wins this round, but Tim will get him back later. Particularly if this Statement is as spicy as he thinks it may be. It might even give him fodder for the next time he teases Martin. He could recite his favourite lines to him.

Tim plops the folder on his desk, sits down, and wheels in his chair. His knees brush up against something under the table. Something that wasn’t there yesterday.

Bizarrely, his first thought is ‘scorpion.’ Totally outlandish, but finding one in his shoe three years ago on a trip to Egypt has put weird things into his head. He reaches beneath the desk and tries to map out what’s under there.

There’s none of the chewing gum under there that he’d expect from a school desk, but then again, gum is very much not allowed down here. The first few touches determine cellophane or plastic, with several items inside.

Tim determines that it’s probably not a bomb and pulls it free. It makes a bit of a plastic rustling noise - enough that Sasha turns her head and watches, but in a way where she’s pretending she’s not. Tim sets the thing on his desk.

There are sweets inside - lovehearts and the red hearts out of haribo. There are a few flowers too, their petals fabric. They look handmade. Tim looks for a note and finds one - ‘been thinking of you, Valentine.’ He does not recognise the handwriting.

He smiles down at it, wondering who could have left it here. With how late he was this morning, anyone could have had the opportunity. He considers asking Sasha if she knows, but if the person who left it went to the trouble of taping it to the underside of his desk instead of just leaving it out, then they probably don’t want a big deal made out of it.

Tim just hopes there’s some clue to figuring out who his secret admirer is hidden inside the package. He stows the thing carefully in his bag and opens the Statement in front of him.

It turns out to be compelling. Not badly written, as a whole. Probably more of an exercise in creative writing than a real story, if he’s to be honest. Tim has plenty of experience and he’s pretty sure tongues can’t do _that._ But he might give it a try.

There’s no recording to go with it, which is a blessing, because that means Jon is going to have to make one. It’s all written in first person too, and Tim’s already trying to work out how to smuggle away a download of the recording. A recording of Jon detailing his (well, the Statement giver’s) encounter with a ghost, which ended with a thorough fucking? Well, to be honest, Tim’s already considering it as wanking material.

He’s fairly engrossed in it when Martin wonders back over. They don’t get Statements of this caliber all that often.

Tim is jerked out of his fantasy when he notices that Martin has a pair of socks on his little tea tray. Several pairs of socks, upon closer inspection, all of them patterned with hearts. Clearly a Valentine’s gift. Unorthodox, but one that suits Martin nonetheless.

“For me?” Tim says, keeping his tone light. “You know you shouldn’t have.”

It’s not outside the bounds of possibility that Martin would get him a gift like this. They do seem the sort of thing that Martin might give out. But on the other hand, they could be something Martin was given, although Martin never struck Tim as the sort to show off a gift like that.

“It’s only the tea for you.” Martin says. “Those were left for me.”

“Were they now?” Tim says. “I guess you’re someone’s secret crush, then.”

It’s only right that Tim isn’t the only person who’s noticed how hot Martin is. He’d be the perfect boyfriend too, providing you didn’t mind a little bit of doting. But Martin just snorts, like the idea of someone finding him attractive is laughable.

“Just admit you put them there.” Martin says, as if Tim would play this as some kind of joke.

Tim is almost offended. If he did get Martin a Valentine’s gift, he wouldn’t mean it as a joke, although he might try and play it off as one if Martin’s reaction made it clear he wasn’t actually interested. Tim puts his hands up to placate Martin.

“Wasn’t me, mate. Maybe I should have, though?” Tim says. “Would it have been appreciated? I must admit, the few times I’ve had cause to get someone a Valentine’s gift, they’ve received something a little more… _interesting_ than socks.”

The first thought Tim has is fluffy handcuffs. He has a few pairs back home (not his favourite type of restraints, mind, but they can be fun, for novelty if for nothing else), so sacrificing a pair for that would be easy enough. Easy enough to play off as a joke, if he needed to, but also very much a joke, because he’d quite like to use them to cuff Martin to the bed and take him to pieces.

What’s best is the way that Martin blushes. Tim has no idea what Martin thinks he might have given out as Valentine’s gifts in the past, but it’s nice to let Martin’s mind make the dirty leap. He blinks up at Martin innocently.

(Maybe, just maybe, that gift stuck under Tim’s desk was from Martin. He would have had the opportunity to put it there. But if it was Martin, Tim can allow him anonymity if he wants it. And he can tell Tim in his own sweet time.)

“That’s. I-” Martin stammers for a moment. “I have tea for- I need to take Jon and Sasha their tea.”

Tim watches as Martin beats a hasty retreat.

* * *

Tim doesn’t notice the extra item in his lunch box until he sits down to eat. Martin’s running late and Sasha’s still in the queue to pick up some of the canteen’s offerings. It’s cheaper to bring your own food in, but she’s addicted to the curly fries they pump out. Apparently, her local fry shop does not provide.

Jon does not eat lunch with them.

Tim suspects the man does actually eat, as he has, on occasion, seen four packed lunches in the break room fridge. But he’s never seen it happen to confirm it, so there is a small possibility that Jon doesn’t. Or that he subsides only on soylent.

But that’s beside the point. The point is, that when he sits down, alone for now, and opens his lunch box, there’s a small package he didn’t place there himself nestled alongside the cheese sandwich he made when he realised last night that the ham had been open for a week and was smelling even funkier than usual.

His first thought is ‘drugs.’ His second thought revolves around amnesia making him forget he placed the item there in the first place. But why would he even do that? Whatever it is is in a little drawstring bag, and it doesn’t even feel that edible as he digs it out.

Tim opens it up and a small penknife slides out of the pouch and into his palm.

It’s not as fancy as the one his parents got him for his eighteenth. He flicks through the attachments - a two small knives (one serrated so that it can double as a saw), a pair of scissors, tweezers, a corkscrew, and a bottle opened. Pretty nice.

He crinkles the bag it came in in his hand. There’s something still in there, Tim realises. He inserts a couple of fingers into the pouch, inspecting some kind of instructions, or maybe an ad for the company that made it. Instead he finds a note, folded tightly to fit.

Of course he unfolds it to read. Who wouldn’t?

_Tim,_

_There doesn’t go a day where I don’t think of you. You are the sun in my sky, the soft wind in my meadows, the river of my soul. If you gave me the chance, I would worship your hands, lips, and… well I’m sure you can imagine some other parts! I want to do that from this day to the end of my life._

_I hope in my heart of hearts that you could so much as consider as to do the same. If you feel like giving me the chance, meet me on the roof at six._

_Yours,_

_Your secret Valentine_

In places it is cheesy enough to make Tim wince. It’s certainly poetic enough that it could have been penned by Martin - ‘penned’ as in printed on plain printer paper. Then again, Jon is exactly the sort of person that would confess to a crush in a stilted anonymous note.

There are other people that technically could have em>accessed his lunch when it was in the fridge - they are meant to share that little nook of a break room with the maintenance staff who have a couple of rooms in the basement. But none of them ever use it, having written off the Archival staff as ‘a bunch of fucking wierdos who get tiny bits of paper all over the floor’ if Tim heard correctly that one time.

Yes, there are researchers and Statement givers and the occasional grad student in the Archives for quick visits. But the fact is, Tim’s lunch is in a plain, unlabelled tupperware. You’d have to be more than an occasional visitor to work out which is his.

Sasha’s a possibility too, but Tim writes her off immediately. He’s been there, done that, and knows she’s not interested. Besides, sappy romantic confessions are unlikely from someone who doesn’t do romance.

So that leaves just Jon and Martin.

Neither is a bad choice, really. Okay, scrap that. Both of them are stellar choices, A+, well done, Tim’s dual crushes remind him. Heck, the whole kaboodle stuck under his desk was probably from the same person (Tim doesn’t dare hope he’s snagged both of them. Life isn’t that kind).

Tim spots Sasha heading over with a tray piled with curly fries. He slips the gift into his pocket - secrecy begets secrecy. If Martin and/or Jon wanted a public confession, they could have damn well given one. Tim can keep mum until six at least.

“What are you smiling about?” Sasha asks as she sits down.

“Oh, nothing in particular.”

* * *

Tim’s just walked back to his desk with a stack of files roughly two feet high when Martin gets called into Jon’s office. He wasn’t expecting cross-referencing the case he’s currently working on to be quite this productive (and these are only the files they’ve had a chance to sort through, fuck knows how many more relevant documents are held in dusty boxes that haven’t seen the light of day in over a decade). Turns out the Lukas family gets around.

Tim whistles as Martin lets the door close. “Looks like a rough day all round.” He says to no one in particular.

The walls to Jon’s office are pretty thick though - they have to be, as it’s a load-bearing wall of a basement - and as a result they’re pretty soundproof. No chance of eavesdropping (not that Tim wants to) without standing close enough to the door that you risk a broken nose if it’s opened too suddenly.

On the converse, it normally means Jon has no clue when his assistants decide to bunk off work and just chat.

“Mmm.” Sasha says. “Although if Martin isn’t in here, you might manage to get some work done instead of staring at him like an infatuated loon.”

“Oh, but you forget one thing my dear.” Tim says.

He fixes him with a deep stare. Nothing too intense, just enough to get some emphasis across. Tim resists the urge to waggle his eyebrows too, but he’s playing falsely sauve right now and that wouldn’t go.

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re just as good to look at.” Tim tells her with a wink.

“I will enact a barrier between us if I think it will make you work faster.” Sasha says. “And I’ll make you pay for the wall.”

“You wound me Miss James.” Tim says. “We could have been something.”

Sasha snorts, and Tim grins at her to let her know that he’s just joking. “One time was more than enough.”

“Was the sex really that bad?” Tim asks. It’s not often he gets a negative review, but it does occasionally happen.

“You rolled over afterwards and told me that you could see yourself falling in love with me.” Sasha says. “I love you, just… not like that.”

“How come I always end up single on Valentine’s day?” Tim asks.

“I don’t date, and it didn’t feel right stringing you along thinking we could be something.” Sasha says. “No offense, but I’m not sure a QPC is going to be the right fit for us either. You’ll have to nurse your crushes on Martin and Jon instead.”

“Think I can ever get either of them to take me seriously?” Tim asks, because he’s honestly been trying with those two for months. Perhaps trying with both of them at the same time hasn’t helped, but a man can have hopes, okay! “At this point, I don’t think anything short of dancing around in my underwear in front of them is going to work.”

“That would be a sight.” Sasha says. “Speaking of, you missed Martin prancing around in his underwear earlier today.”

“Don’t lie to me Sasha.” Tim says. Sasha just grins. “Bloody hell, really?”

“You could consider asking for a repeat performance since you missed it.” Sasha suggests. “Maybe you should consider taking some action on Valentine's day instead of letting your multitude of fans fawn over you.”

“A gentleman never tells, Sasha.”

“I thought you said you were single this year?” Sasha says. “Are you hiding something? You know I’ll find out.”

“I’m sure you will.” Tim says. “In fact I’m counting on that fact on the occasion that I go missing this evening.”

“Is that a risk?” Sasha says.

“I mean, in general?” Tim shrugs. “I may have a clandestine meeting with a secret admirer this evening.”

“Details.” Sasha says. “Now.”

Tim grins. “I thought I told you - a gentleman never tells.”

* * *

The Institute has a lift, but it doesn’t go all the way up to the roof. In fact, Tim’s about ninety percent certain that employees aren’t supposed to have access to the roof (fall risk? Tim doesn’t know her) at all. He wasn’t even exactly sure which door he needed to try until he wandered around the top floor for a bit, found a ‘no unauthorised access’ door that wasn’t locked with stairs behind it. And at the top, another door.

That door should probably be locked - Tim expects it to be and he doesn’t have a key - but it isn’t. He supposes it’s not exactly that much of a security issue. Who’s going to break in via the roof? The Institute is a single, contained building and there’s nothing tall enough to jump onto the roof from nearby. Tim probably would have tried that if he could. Sounds like a laugh.

(There is perhaps the risk of employees leaving the building by the roof. But the job isn't so bad they have droves of employees leaping off the roof to get out of it.)

But the door is unlocked and it opens out onto the roof, and while it’s cold it’s not actually raining which is a blooming miracle for a February afternoon. There’s a small tenty-gazebooey thing set up, so that’s clearly where Tim’s meant to be headed. The blue and red fabric sticks out among the otherwise grey roof.

It’s a miracle the thing is even there, as while the weather is dry, it’s very windy, and there’s nowhere to peg the damn thing down. But as Tim draws closer, he sees the guy lines have been utilised, having been tied to a drain-pipe on one side and the top of an air vent (possibly?) on the other. The tent is still making a valiant effort to become a kite.

“Hey!” Tim says as he peeks in.

There’s no one inside. So much for that. But it’s barely gone six, so the other person is probably just running late. After all, why would they go to the effort of setting all of this up only to bail on Tim?

Seems like a lot of effort to stand someone up.

And things have been set up. There’s a large box of chocolates (the box in the shape of a red heart), and a bottle of bubbly on what is now mostly melted ice. And there’s a picnic basket too. Tim doesn’t get a chance to explore further before he hears footsteps. A gait he recognises. He turns to see Martin enter the tent.

“Marto!” Tim cries. That tracks. The note he got had Martin written all over it. Subtextually, anyways.

“What, didn’t think I’d come up to the roof?” Martin says.

“I dunno.” Tim says. “I wasn’t sure if you were a ‘hang out on the roof’ sort of person.”

“You clearly didn’t know me in school.” Martin says.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Tim says. “Champagne?”

“How could I say no?” Martin says.

Tim grabs a couple of flutes. There’s one left over. He hands both to Martin and removes the bottle from the ice bath. It’s cold enough up here, even with the tent, that it probably didn’t need chilling. Well, if they have to huddle for warmth, Tim isn’t going to complain.

“On closer inspection,” Tim says, looking at the label, “I don’t think this is technically champagne.”

“Is it bubbly and will it get me drunk?” Martin asks.

“Yes, and yes.”

“Then I don’t see the problem with it.”

“Right on.” Tim says. He looks around for a means to open it. “Uh, you haven’t got a corkscrew, have you?”

Martin produces one from his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it out when he set this up. Tim takes it without commenting. Then he peels back the foil and remembers that you don’t need a corkscrew for sparkling wine. 

He chalks it up to the fact he’s never had much opportunity to drink it. At least outside of restaurants where someone else opens it for you. He did used to bartend back in his uni days, but most of what he took away from that was how to mix drinks and not how to open and pour champagne.

There’s wire around the cork and Tim wonders if you need pliers to open it. This all seems very complicated. There’s a reason why he usually only drinks bubbly when there’s someone else to pour it.

“Uh, do you know how to open this?” Tim asks.

“Um…” Martin says, but he takes the bottle, even if the look on his face is dubious. “Don’t you need to give it a little…” He shakes it a couple of times, quite hard.. “They always do it on T.V., so…”

“Dunno.” Tim says. “Oh, look, the wires sort of twist together. So if you just…”

Tim leans over and twists the little tab that’s sticking out. After half a dozen or so twists, the thing loosens and Tim pulls the cage off. Martin thumbs at the cork, and it barely takes a touch before the thing pops off. The cork goes flying out of the tent.

There is a yelp and Tim whips round to see Jon in the doorway to the tent.

Jon’s arms were raised in front of his face, but he lowers them to his chest, his hands curled like he’s ready to throw a punch. There’s a knife - no it’s the letter opener from his desk upon closer inspection - clenched in his fist. 

“I’m armed.” Jon says, rather redundantly. “I’m not afraid to - _Martin_? What are you doing up here?”

“I suppose I’m just chopped liver then?” Tim says.

Jon’s eyes slide over to Tim like he’s only just noticed him. But they linger for a few moments, a long heavy look, before Jon must put something together, because his gaze darts between them a few times. He lowers the letter opener, but does not put it down.

“I am obviously interrupting something here.” Jon says. “I thought I was summoned up here, but clearly there was some kind of mistake.”

“You got a note, didn’t you?” Martin says. “You know, someone did provide three glasses for this champagne. And I think this tent is big enough for three if we don’t mind squeezing in close together.”

Ho boy, Tim did not think that Martin had this in him. Setting up a surprise date on Valentine’s day is one thing, but setting up a surprise date for two people at the same time? That’s plucky. Perhaps Tim misjudged him.

“I did.” Jon says. He looks slightly confused, but he steps into the tent with them.

It is a bit of a squeeze in the tent with all three of them and all the picnic stuff. Tim and Jon might have to fight for the prize of getting to sit on Martin’s lap. But Jon does the door up behind him on his way in and then it’s like they’re in their own little bubble. Not the most romantic date Tim has ever been on, but certainly better than all but one of his camping trips (a gentleman never tells).

“So,” Tim says, turning to Jon, “do you come to every date armed? Just wondering if I’m going to have to strip search you in the future.”

“Tim!” Jon says, but he’s flushing red.

“Hey!” Martin says. “I came up to the roof armed too.”

“With what, a corkscrew?” Tim says. Martin is silent for a moment too long. “Wait, _really?_ ”

Although, now that he thinks about it, Tim still has the penknife in his pocket. So he’s technically armed too, even though if he did need to use it he’d be just as likely to pull out tweezers as he would an implement that could stab someone.

There are no chairs, but there is a blanket and some cushions on the floor that the three of them have just about managed not to stand on. Oh well, it’s not like anyone’s shoes are that muddy. Tim sits and looks meaningfully at the other two.

Martin sits down beside him. Tim may have misjudged how big the blanket is, or perhaps just how much room Martin takes up. He has to shuffle over and his thigh ends up pressed up against Martin’s, else he risks the cold concrete.

“I don’t think there’s room for me.” Jon says.

“Sure there is.” Tim says.

“There’s always room for you.” Martin adds.

Tim pats Martin’s lap, since it doesn’t look like the other man is going to do it himself. It’s not that Tim objects to Jon sitting on him, but he is under no illusion that Martin probably makes a more comfortable seat. Maybe, if Jon is amenable, they might have a change to switch over part way through the date (and Tim is under no doubts that this is a date, even if it is the strangest one he’s been on in a while) and Tim will be able to try Martin’s lap out for himself.

For a moment, Tim doesn’t think that Jon is going to do it. But then he sniffs, and sits down. The haughty look on his face lasts until Tim grabs his legs and lays them over his own lap, so that Jon is sprawled over the both of them.

“This is-” Martin begins.

“Highly inappropriate?” Jon interrupts.

“I was going to say romantic.” Martin says. He wraps his arms around Jon’s waist and squeezes slightly. Tim is not jealous in the slightest, but it’s not nearly as satisfying to hug Jon’s legs.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing here.” Jon says.

“Pretty sure you’re on a date.” Tim says, just in case it’s not obvious.

“You don’t _have_ to be here. Not if you don’t want to.” Martin says, although he doesn’t actually make any effort to let Jon go.

“No.” Jon says. “I want to be here. With you. Both of you.”

“Careful,” Tim says, “that almost sounds like a confession.”

“I think that’s as close to one as I can manage without curling up and dying.” Jon says.

“That’s okay.” Martin says. “I like you too.” His eyes slide over to Tim. “Both of you.”

Tim can feel heat rising in his cheeks. “I honestly couldn’t be happier.” He says. “I’ve been pining like crazy for the both of you for far too long and now I want to take the opportunity to feed both of you chocolate. Or something else. Uh, what’s in the basket?”

Martin leans over, so Tim takes the opportunity to smile at Jon. Jon’s awfully pretty when he’s got a faint blush going on. Tim would like to see more of that.

“There’s strawberries.” Martin says. “Will those suit your purposes?”

Martin pulls out a little basket of strawberries. They’re not in the little punnet from the supermarket, so it seems they’ve been washed. They’re mostly small ones, too. Perfect to feed to each other.

“Those are perfect.” Tim says.

Jon ends up holding the basket, since he’s sort of in the middle. Despite it being his plan, Tim ends up being the first one to be fed a berry. They’re sweet. Better than he’d expect considering it’s a bit early for them to be in season.

Tim opens his mouth to tell the others how good they are, only to feel Jon’s finger on his lips. A jolt of arousal hits him from nowhere.

“Now, now,” Jon says, “you know better than to talk with your mouth full.

Tim rolls his eyes.

“We’ve finally found a way to shut him up!” Martin says, so Tim rolls his eyes at him too. Then he shoves a strawberry into Martin’s mouth while he swallows his own mouthful.

Tim offers the next berry to Jon. It’s one of the only properly big ones in the basket. Too big for Tim to just pop it into Jon’s mouth. Jon bites into it and the juice runs down to his chin. Tim’s eyes fix on the light pink trail it leaves. The half-eaten strawberry dangles from his fingertip, but Jon doesn’t go in for another bite.

Tim reaches out and swipes the juice back up to Jon’s mouth with his index finger. He shudders as he feels Jon’s tongue swipe over it.

“Can I kiss you?” Tim asks.

Jon looks at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a range rover. He blinks twice. Tim removes his fingers from Jon’s mouth, but slides his hand under the other man’s jaw, because he can’t not touch Jon right now.

“Um,” Jon says, “so I don’t do the whole sex thing.”

“Oh.” Martin says. “Are you okay with, uh, this then.” Tim sees his hands tighten just a little, the squeeze punctuating what he means.

“I like being intimate when I’m dating a person. Or, well, people.” Jon says. “I like touching. Just not…”

“Not intimate touching?” Tim says. “If you catch my drift.”

“Yes.” Jon says. “I like this. Now. Just not without any clothes on.”

“You’re a cuddleslut.” Tim says with a small amount of awe. “Martin, you owe me twenty.”

“What?” Martin says.

“Okay, maybe we only made that bet in my head.” Tim concedes. He turns to Jon. “The question still stands though: can I kiss you?”

“I like kissing.” Jon says. He leans in, and Tim takes that as a non-verbal ‘yes,’ because Jon is clearly expecting a smooch right now.

It would be rude of Tim not to deliver.

It’s barely more than a peck, in the end. Then again, it is a first kiss and Jon’s been pretty explicit that Tim will not be getting into his trousers tonight (or ever). He doesn’t taste strawberries on Jon’s lips, although whether that’s because Tim’s been eating them too or whether it’s because he’s too busy finding out how smooth Jon’s hair actually is is anyone’s guess.

“Don’t leave Marto out.” Tim says as they break apart.

He still has a hand under Jon’s chin, so he gently encourages Jon to twist around. Martin is nicely red, but he meets Jon in a kiss too. If Tim isn’t mistaken, then Jon’s kiss with Martin lasts a little longer, but then again, his brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment.

After Jon breaks away from Martin, it just feels natural to gravitate towards Martin. And before Tim can ask 'is this okay?' Martin has snaked a hand behind Tim's head and reeled him in.

Martin turns out to be quite a dominant kisser. Tim wasn't expecting that - expecting this level of confidence - but he can't complain. Especially not when Martin slips him a little bit of tongue.

And while Jon isn't technically involved in the kiss, Tim can still feel his presence. After all, there's a hand in his hair, a hand on his arm, and a hand splayed across Tim's chest. He'd have noticed by now if Martin had three hands.

"So, how long has this been going on?" Jon asks when they come up for air.

"It hasn't?" Tim says.

"Did you think we were sleeping together?" Martin asks. "Cause we're not. Not that I'm averse!" He's quick to add.

Tim lets his eyes drag up and down Martin. "Is that so… I think I'll have to take you up on that at some point."

"Ah." Jon says. "It's just that that was pretty intense. You didn't kiss me like that. I liked watching it."

"...Do you want me to kiss you like that?" Martin asks.

"I think I should like that." Jon says.

"Come here then." Martin says, even though Jon is already in his lap.

Tim's never been that interested in watching other people kiss. The noises can be frankly off-putting. This is different, though. Tim's still involved in the kiss, even if his lips aren't occupied. Martin still has an arm around his waist and Jon's legs are still splayed across his lap.

He leans in. Tim only means to get a little closer, maybe touch them a little, but he ends up with his lips on Martin's neck (and Martin does seem the safer bet for that).

It isn't long before someone's neck turns and Tim finds himself being kissed again. Learning to tell the difference between Martin and Jon with his eyes closed is very pleasurable indeed.

A long while later, Jon pulls back and turns to Tim. His cheeks are flushed and his lips reddened. "Thanks for organising this." Jon says.

"Thank Martin," Tim says, "he's the one who set this up."

"Oh," Jon says. "Sorry, Martin, I just assumed-"

"I didn't plan this. Someone sent me a note..." Martin says. "Wait, you thought-"

Tim thinks back to his own gifts and notes. Now the sender is seeming far less obvious. But it's clear they've been set up.

"That begs the question, if none of us sent each other the gifts we received today-" Jon begins.

"Then who the fuck did?" Martin finishes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who guessed correctly: congratulations!
> 
> CW:  
> -Aro character trying to manipulate three people they know like each other into confessing feelings to each other.

Rosie lets Sasha have three chocolates, because she’s soft like that. Sasha eats one right in front of her while Rosie makes small talk about her latest grandkid. The other two get slipped into Sasha’s bag while she nods at the baby picture Rosie presents and tries to make her facial expression look a little less plastic.

Sure, every baby is meant to be beautiful and bonny. But some just. Aren’t.

When she gets down to the Archives, Jon’s coat is already on the coat hooks, still slightly damp from the drizzle outside. Sasha hangs her coat up beside it. Jon himself is standing in the doorway to document storage, talking to Martin if his tone of voice is of any indication.

“Are you going to keep watching while I get dressed?” She hears Martin say just as she rounds the doorway to see a very much not-dressed Martin. That raises questions about exactly what she’s walked into. Probably not anything as adventurous as anything her imagination has just come up with.

Jon stammers and stutters a little, but he doesn’t actually stop looking at Martin. Poor fool probably doesn’t even realise how much he actually likes Martin. He’ll probably be thinking of this moment all day.

Well, no, if everything goes to plan, Jon will have far more important memories of Martin from this day. But not every plan is perfect, Sasha has to admit. And it’s not like she has much in the way of contingencies if this doesn’t work aside from going all the way back to the drawing board. Maybe a romantic Easter egg hunt in a few months?

Sasha turns and averts her eyes after seeing Martin, because she is a gentleman (unlike one Jon Sims). But she can’t resist a little taunt.

“That is unless you want poor Martin to work only in his underwear for the rest of the day.” She says.

It’s satisfying to watch Jon blush, and out of the corner of her eye, Sasha can see Martin do the same thing. God, do these two need to get over themselves. It’s alright though, because Sasha has a plan.

And while that plan is not quite ‘push Jon and Martin (and Tim) in a cupboard and lock the door’, Sasha has to admit that it isn’t far off. (It's the roof, not a cupboard. And the door won't actually be locked because safety comes first and she'd like the boys to have an option to get off the roof without jumping. And plausible deniability, which isn’t very much an option if she has to come and let them down.)

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jon says. “He’d get cold.”

“You know, that’s not the glaring issue with it!” Martin shouts back, although the effect is somewhat disrupted by how his voice breaks at the end.

“Oh?” Sasha asks, because this is entirely too much fun. “And what might that be, then?”

“Shut up!” Martin says. “Both of you - out!”

Martin closes the door. Sasha takes Jon’s elbow and tugs him away, because said door has a window in it straight at Jon’s eye level, and she can at least save him the embarrassment of being caught peeping through that.

Jon disappears into his office and Sasha sits down at her desk. There’s no noise from Jon’s direction, so Sasha can only hope that he appreciates the gift she left on his desk. There’s no label on it, of course - while all the gifts scattered about (or still in her bag) were bought with her money, they’re not technically _from_ her.

Needless to say, it’s high time these boys got over themselves. 

The large office she shares with Tim and Martin seems far too empty with only her here, but Martin ‘arrives’ for work some ten minutes later. However, he’s scarcely sat down before Jon calls him into his office.

Crap. She had hoped that Jon would be in a better mood after finding the present she left him last night. One of, at least. She had ample time to find hiding spots like ‘stick it under Tim’s desk’ yesterday (okay, maybe that one isn't that creative, but she was damn pleased about getting into Jon's 'impenetrable antique statements' cabinet. She didn't even have to look that hard for the key) . And she worked hard to distract Jon last night and ensure he left without realising how little overtime he’d done - it’s a rare thing when Jon leaves the office later than she does.

At least whatever Jon has perceived as Martin’s fault now hasn’t got him so irate that she can hear the discussion through the door (which only happens at excessive volumes). And she has more important things to do, like some actual work, fun as it would be to snoop.

Sasha makes fair use of the fact Tim isn’t in yet to spot her planting gifts to sneak into document storage and place a gift for Martin in one of the bags of clothes he leaves under his bed. She makes it obvious it’s there, too, by leaving the bag a little messy and open. This game is only fun if everyone actually finds their gifts. Especially the ones with the notes in. God, it made her cringe to write those. Allos are weird.

Martin walks out of Jon’s office looking thoroughly confused and holding chocolate before she can manage to hide his other gift. A pity, but interesting to see that Jon’s given him, well, _half_ a gift, if she’s honest. Still, good to see she’s not the only one doing the work here, although there’s still plenty of work for her to do with the amount of gifts still stashed in her bag.

But Sasha knows patience. There’s only a few more things to hide, and she knows if she plays this right, the payload will be massive.

* * *

Tim arrives late enough that Sasha was starting to get concerned that he wasn’t coming in at all today. She checked his calendar, but he hasn’t booked the day off, and as far as she can tell, Jon hasn’t had a call that could be him phoning in sick.

She debates trying to get hold of Jon’s phone history just to double check that, but honestly it seems more hassle than it’s worth. (Maybe in half an hour or so, right when Jon is due his next smoke break.)

And besides, five minutes after she comes up with that plan, Tim wonders in. Sasha raises an eyebrow at him until he gives her a look that says ‘put that thing back where it came from, goddamn it.’

“Good morning, guys.” Tim says. He hangs his coat up with a flourish and gives no elaboration on his tardiness.

“Nice to see you this morning.” Sasha says.

“Same.” Martin says.

Tim must smile at Martin after that, because Martin just turns nice and pink. Sasha rolls her eyes. Bloody typical of these two - lots of flirting with neither of them realising the other might actually mean it. It’s tiring watching them dance around each other on eggshells. Sasha will be taking matters into her own hands, even if it means smashing the carton herself. Well, there is that saying about omelets and breaking eggs.

Sasha turns back to her work and catches Jon’s office door opening out of the corner of her eye.

“Tim, a word?” Jon calls from inside his office. He leaves the door open, but doesn’t step out.

Sasha leans down under her desk and removes her empty water bottle from her bag. She also uses the opportunity to remove another gift from her bag. A set of black socks with red hearts on them. There’s a little note with them too - ‘be mine, Valentine’ painstakingly written out in cursive handwriting that’s both neat enough to have been created digitally, and far different from Sasha’s own actual handwriting.

The socks safely stashed inside her cardi, Sasha heads in the direction of the sink. She mouths ‘you’re in trouble’ at Tim as she passes, and the expression he makes can certainly be called closer to a grimace than a smile.

Tim and Jon are otherwise occupied, and Martin’s attention is focused on them, so Sasha uses the distraction to her advantage, opening the ceramic teabag container that is usually only Martin’s domain and slipping the socks inside. 

She fills her water bottle, because it’s a terrible ruse if she comes back with it empty. Then all that’s left is to sit and wait.

* * *

“You were looking for a case, yesterday, weren’t you? I think Martin has an interesting one.” Sasha says when Tim is released from the depths of Jon’s office.

“Yeah.” Tim replies. He shoots her a look that says ‘oh _thank_ you for finding me more work. Just what I needed.’ “Is ‘interesting’ code for ‘a complete pain in the backside’?” 

Well, some pains in the backside were involved in the statement, but not in the way Tim probably means. Apparently ectoplasm is not a good substitute for lube. And that wasn’t even the best line in the thing.

Sasha doesn’t have a ‘top ten funniest statements’ list, but if she did, this statement would get right on it. And Martin’s scandalised face when he found it and couldn’t not show it to her was the cherry on top.

Tim turns to Martin. “It might be difficult, but I’m sure I can handle anything you want to give to me?”

Oh dear Lord, listen to them. Tim used to at least try to be subtle. Now most of his flirtations towards Martin are more along the line of ‘please, for the love of God take me now.’ And Martin still seems pretty oblivious, because Sasha’s pretty sure he’d jump Tim’s bones if he had a chance.

It just looks like she has to be the one to provide that chance.

“I’m not sure I had an interesting case?” He looks adorably flustered.

“You did.” Sasha says. “You mentioned it right before I left yesterday. Something about-”

She stretches the last bit out like she’s trying to remember it (but how could she ever forget?). But Martin connects the pieces of the puzzle before she has to spell it out for him.

“You mean the ghost sex Statement?” Martin does sound a little flustered. Sasha would expect him to spring a blush at that, but he’s already pretty red from what Tim’s been saying to him.

“Ghost sex Statement?” Tim echoes. “Baby, have you been holding out on me?”

“He absolutely has.” Sasha confirms. The thing is brilliant, and if the terms of her employment didn’t stop her from sharing it to the world, she’d post it online in a heartbeat. But alas, her coworkers are the only ones she can share it with.

“Show it to me.” Time says. Then he has a better idea. “No, no - read me the best parts in your sexy voice.”

That’s either the best idea she’s heard all day or the worst. Sasha’s not even sure if she wants to record it or not. (Oh, who’s she kidding, of course she would want to record it, the question is how would she get away with it without Martin stopping her?)

“My sexy…” Martin flounders for a minute, like he doesn’t know whether to be shocked or pleased. “You know what, have at it!” He all but flings the file at Tim. “I am going to make some tea.” Martin says, and he storms off in the direction of the kitchenette.

“Martin, darling, we could do a dramatic reading together.” Tim says. “Let something else brew between us.” 

Martin looks over to her, a plea for help clear in his eyes. Sasha debates on whether or not she should give it to him. “I think it’s het." He says. "You’ll need to ask Sasha.”

“I can play the girl.” Tim suggests. “I don’t mind playing catcher if you’re the one pitching.”

Oh yeah, Sasha is definitely not volunteering to help Martin get out of this one. The result is far too amusing. It’s a pity she can’t think of anything that makes it more likely Martin will actually go through with this. He looks like he’s ready to bolt, already halfway to the sink to fill up the kettle.

“Thirsty. I am suddenly very thirsty. I need tea. Now.” Martin says.

“I doubt you’re the only one.” Sasha says under her breath, because Tim was being the picture of thirst back there.

Tim does sit down though and start looking at the file, though, and Martin is ensconced in his tea making. She probably has just enough time before he delivers her a cuppa to have a quick word with Jon, because the kettle is an ancient thing that takes at least five minutes to boil enough water for all of them at once. The case is one she worked on yesterday and she really ought to get it to Jon before it slips her mind entirely.

He’s had enough time to cool off after his earlier ‘talks’ with Tim and Martin, Sasha knocks on his office door and lets herself in.

“I’ve got one I don’t think will record. Be warned, it’s kinda gross.” She tells him, no pleasantries necessary first. Not enough to make her queasy - not just as words on paper that is. Sasha has a list of Statements that could be adapted into killer horror flicks, and this one definitely makes the cut.

“Have you tried recording it?” Jon asks.

“No.” Sasha says. She really didn’t need to. There’s a knack for knowing which ones aren’t going to record, and she’s starting to get it. She likes to tell herself there aren’t connecting threads, but...

“Then how do you know it won’t? Maybe you should try it before you give it to me.” Jon retorts.

“The Statement giver died less than a week after giving this, from what was described as ‘a chronic pulmonary condition’ - and I didn’t look too hard into what that means - despite having a clean bill of health three months earlier.” Sasha says. “And there was a book involved. Leitner wasn’t mentioned, but…”

It’s fairly solid as an argument goes. It’s always the creepy and hard to disprove Statements that won’t record. Sasha’s pretty sure they’re the real ones. And it’s an unspoken truth that Lietners are real.

“You think it’s tied to a Lietner.” Jon says.

“So do you want a look?” Sasha asks.

“Not particularly.” Jon says, but he takes the file when Sasha passes it off to him. What he wants does not apparently translate into what he’s actually going to do.

“It’s either that or sit in here and mope.” Sasha jests.

“Mope? What would I even have to-” Jon blusters. It’s amusing to see how defensive he immediately gets. “I am very busy and I do not have time for moping-”

“Could have fooled me. Not a fan of Valentine’s day?” Sasha asks. It’s not a dig, apart from the bit where it’s very much a dig. So sue her, she’s curious.

“It is a terrible and over-commercialized holiday designed to make people buy more chocolate.” Jon says. “You either have someone to give chocolate to, or you buy a load of chocolate because you’re single and the whole business makes you miserable.”

“Chocolate which will all be really cheap tomorrow.” Sasha says. There are upsides to everything. She certainly indulges in Valentine’s day chocolate. The thing is, she just never buys it until at least the fifthteenth. "I’ve already cleared out a cupboard at home and I plan to buy enough to make it last until the Easter stuff goes on clearance.”

“You know, saint Valentine didn’t even have anything to do with love! And we don’t even know who he actually was, because two blokes named Valentine, or something close to it, were executed on February fourteenth by Emperor Claudius.” Jon stops, but it’s only to breath in. It’s clear that Sasha will need to interrupt him to make him stop. “The church just cannibalised the Lupercalia and-”

“I don’t know what the Lupercalia is.” Sasha says. Admittedly, all her knowledge of classical mythology comes from Disney’s Hercules. Somehow, she doubts that’s accurate.

“It was a Roman fertility festival held on the fifthteenth.” Jon says. “Drunken debauchery, possible orgies, and lots of hitting each other with sticks.”

Yeah, that definitely wasn’t in the adaptation of Hercules she’s familiar with. Maybe Disney should remake it. They seem intent on making live-actions of all the big hits anyway. R-rated Hercules sounds like a laugh. It would definitely be worth a watch then.

“All the sort of things the church doesn’t like.” Sasha grins at him. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” Jon says.

“I don’t mind.” Sasha says.

“As your boss, I mind.” Jon replies. Spoilsport.

“Going to tell me to get back to work?” Sasha says. Then she pulls a face at him as he turns away for a moment.

“Yes.” Jon says.

“Aight, I’m going.” Sasha says. “Have fun with that creepy statement.”

She leaves him to it.

* * *

She doesn’t get far out of Jon’s office before Martin accosts her.

“Tea?” He asks. 

It is a rhetorical question, because one does not turn down a cup of tea made by Martin Blackwood. He’s even picked out her favourite mug - a splotchy black and white one with little udder ‘feet’ underneath to match the cow-print mug. It’s not even hers, really, but there were several mugs down here when all of them got moved to the Archives, and Sasha has claimed it as her own.

“You read my mind.” Sasha says. She counts the mugs remaining on the tray after taking hers - two. One she knows is Martin’s, but there’s also one left on Tim’s desk (although the man himself is absent). Which means the remaining mug is for Jon. She nods at it. “I’d hold off for a moment or two. I think Jon’s just started recording.”

“And let it go stone cold?” Martin says. He doesn’t try to shoulder past her, just eyes the mug on the tray in his hands critically.

“Like he’d end up drinking more than half of it anyway.” Sasha says, because Jon rarely does. There’s usually a collection of half-drunk cuppas on his desk by the end of the day - and for this sin he has been banned from the interesting mugs. “I suppose he could reheat it in the microwave.”

Martin’s scowl is adorable. “I’d decapitate him. In fact, I’m going to drink his cup as well as mine now.”

“Even though it isn’t made to your liking?” Sasha teases. She’s never asked quite how Jon takes his tea, but it is a little lighter than Martin’s, so it can’t be the same order.

“Ehh.” Martin replies. “It’s not to his liking either. Whenever Jon’s a bitch to me, I don’t add quite enough milk or sugar to his tea.”

Sasha blinks at him once, twice. Martin does not break out into a ‘hah - gotcha.’ Bloody fuck. Sasha hadn’t thought him quite capable of that, but he just smiles at her like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“You are adorably petty.” Sasha tells him. “I see you no longer need help diverting yourself from Tim’s attentions.”

The other man isn’t in the room, departed to whereabouts unknown. From the steaming mug of tea on his desk, it is unlikely that Tim has been gone for long.

“Huh?” Martin says. He turns around to look, then shrugs and turns back to Sasha.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you made tea to escape him flirting with you.” Sasha says. “I can tell him to lay off if you want me to?”

She doesn’t think that Martin wants Tim to lay off. But she also knows that Tim can be a bit much. He still flirts with her sometimes, but not nearly as much since they slept together and Tim found out she wasn’t interested in anything long term.

She never pegged Tim as a romantic. (She never pegged Tim either, but that’s a story for another day.)

“No.” Martin says. Sasha raises an eyebrow at that, because she wasn’t expecting him to admit it. “I don’t mind. I mean, I do, but… Look. I just. It’s nice, right? If infuriating. And I- it’s just. I mean it’s-”

“Mmmm-hmmm?” Sasha drawls.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Sasha replies.

Martin’s eyes narrow. “Sure you didn’t.”

“Okay, so maybe I did.” Sasha admits. “Would you maybe like to elaborate on your earlier spluttering?”

“Sasha!” Martin exclaims. Sasha raises a second eyebrow to join the first. “Tim is… I kind of like him, okay?”

“As in?” God, it’s like herding kittens. Or getting a dog to give you its injured paw so that you can pull out a thorn.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Martin says. Whines almost.

“I’m going to make you define what you mean when you say you _like_ him.” Sasha clarifies.

She thinks she has a good idea of what Martin means, but she needs to hear him say. He needs to hear him say it. Maybe then it’ll get through to him that things could be reciprocal.

“I mean I would quite like to strip him naked, pin him down to the cot, and have my wicked way with him!” Martin claps a hand over his mouth when he realises what he said. “Crap, I-”

“Well now.” Sasha says. Her mouth sets into a grin. 

“What, we’re not kids!” Martin says. “I’m not going to say ‘I _like_ like him.’ No. I want to fuck the guy. And maybe also take him out for dinner or something. But like-”

Sasha zones out slightly in disbelief. She thought she might be able to press Martin for a confession. _Might_ being the keyword. An explicit description of quite what Martin would like to do to Tim was not on the cards. Although props to him. Sasha frankly didn’t expect Martin to have that sort of imagination.

“Crap, did he just walk in behind me?” Martin says, startling her out of her thoughts.

“No.” Sasha says before she actually checks for herself. Was she out of it enough not to notice Tim coming back in? Martin turns around to check too, like he doesn’t believe her, but when Sasha scans the room herself, Tim is nowhere to be found. “Chance would be a fine thing. What about Jon?”

“What about Jon?” Martin repeats.

“You like Jon too.” Sasha says.

“I do not like Jon too!” Martin replies.

That can’t possibly be true. Martin isn’t quite that oblivious and everybody’s seen the way he looks at Jon. It’s a bit like a lost puppy. Or perhaps a kicked one.

“Oh my God, did you not even realise you have a crush on Jon?” Sasha blinks at him. “C’mon Martin, it’s so obvious it can be seen from orbit.”

“Do you think Jon knows?” Martin asks. He sounds nervous.

Sounds like he is aware of his crush, just thought he was hiding it a darn sight better than he actually is. Not that Jon seems aware, but it’s bloody obvious to anyone that's looking in from the outside.

Whether Jon might feel something back is a little more complicated. But Sasha would put money on the fact that Jon has some at least subconscious feelings for Martin. He’s probably just caught up in how inappropriate it is to think of Martin like that and treats him worse than he deserves as a manner of overcompensation. 

“No.” Sasha responds. “If there’s anyone more oblivious than you, it’s him.”

“Thank God.” Martin says. Then he perks up. “Wait, more oblivious than me? What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Oh honey,” Sasha says, shaking her head. “You know…”

“Tell me.” Martin says. He has this little grumpy face on that’s frankly adorable.

“What Tim says, he really does mean.” Sasha settles with. “And Jon… He might just be lashing out because he’s confused about how he feels. I haven’t got as strong a read on him, to be honest.”

“But you think…?” Martin says.

“I think Jon might like you more than either of you realise. Might not go anywhere, but…” Sasha says. “Tim on the other hand-”

Well, it’s hard to miss Tim’s flirting, isn’t it?

“It’s pretty clear Tim is down for a casual fling.” Martin says.

Oh. Sasha supposes that Tim’s uh, _attitude_ , could be read like that. But that’s not the way he is. If all Tim wanted was a bit of a fling, she wouldn’t have had a problem with that. But Sasha’s never really been comfortable being more than friends with someone, and what Tim wanted was definitely more than _friends_. Incompatibility is a bitch.

“ _Casual_ isn’t really what he wants.” Sasha says. “And he might flirt fairly liberally with everyone, but I think he has a thing for you?”

And by ‘think’, she means ‘knows’. 

“It isn’t? You think?” Martin says. There’s so much hope in his voice. God, today’s plan better pay off, because there’s no way she can make it through another week of three-way pining.

“Oh trust me, sweetheart,” Sasha replies, “I would know.”

* * *

Around midday, Sasha suddenly remembers there’s still one gift in her bag that hasn’t been hidden. It’s one for Tim, and she couldn’t think of a good spot for it last night when she was hiding stuff.

As there were several she wasn’t able to do until this morning, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal at the time. She made a half-formed plan to sneak it into Tim’s bag - possibly his lunch box, and call it a day.

Now it’s around half an hour to lunch and Sasha still hasn’t hidden it.

There might be an opportunity, if the fates line up. And they do. Jon remains in his office like the fucking recluse he is, and around twelve, Martin gets up to do some reshelving (trust the former librarian) as he often does around this time of day. And then Tim gets up, taking his phone, but not his bag with him - his usual routine when visiting the loos.

Sasha strikes.

The last gift is a small thing - just a small pouch (and its contents). She conceals it in her hand and halfway up her sleeve for plausible deniability if she’s caught as she walks over to the small fridge next to the sink and retrieves Tim’s lunch box. It isn’t named or anything, but Sasha can recognise all of her co-workers tupperware by sight.

Of course, poking around in Tim's food is not something Sasha has an alibi for if she’s caught. But a, uh, _thorough_ inspection of things not belonging to her is not so out of character that she’d be questioned. Just reprimanded, perhaps.

It doesn’t matter, really, because she gets away with it. Simple as pie.

* * *

After lunch, Martin gets pulled into Jon’s office again. Sasha still hasn’t worked out if Martin’s work is as bad as Jon thinks it is, or if Jon just wants it to be. After all, it’s not like any of them know how to do this job. Not really. Maybe Jon’s treatment of Martin is a reflection of the fact that Jon knows he himself is totally unqualified for the position and also doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.

If Sasha were in charge, she’d at least show some solidarity over the fact they’re all fucking clueless about this.

“Looks like a rough day all round.” Tim says with a whistle, nodding over to the recently closed door to Jon’s office.

“Mmm-hmm… Although if Martin isn’t in here, you might manage to get some work done instead of staring at him like an infatuated loon.” Sasha says.

In her estimate, Tim spends approximately ten percent of his work hours flirting with people, and a further seven to thirteen percent eye-fucking them (exactly how long Tim spends oogling depends on how many people around him are wearing tight trousers. God forbid he ever take up yoga - the poor man wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what the instructor says).

“Oh, but you forget one thing my dear.” Tim says, looking at her soulfully.

“And what’s that?” Sasha asks.

“That you’re just as good to look at.” Tim gives her a wink.

Sasha has to laugh, because otherwise she’d just cringe. She knows Tim well enough to know he’s only joking and flirting for fun. It wouldn’t even go anywhere beyond fun banter if she flirted back. They agreed on that much after the first time, although Tim has promised he’s still open to something if she did want, but she’ll have to be very explicit about propositioning him, so that he doesn’t just brush it off.

“I will enact a barrier between us if I think it will make you work faster.” Sasha says. “And I’ll make you pay for the wall.”

“You wound me Miss James.” Tim says. “We could have been something.”

Sasha snorts at that. The very idea of being ‘more than friends’ with someone is ridiculous to her, although she’s not adverse to adding ‘with benefits’ to that if it’s the right man. Or woman. “One time was more than enough.” She says.

“Was the sex really that bad?” Tim asks.

Not really, no. He didn’t make it all about him, and he wasn’t in the mindset of ‘I’m so hot that I don’t need to do any work’ that so many attractive guys she’s slept with seem to fall into. Sasha would have considered a repeat if she didn’t foresee the inevitability of Tim getting a little too attached. She’s had, well _fuckbuddies_ for lack of a better term before. And in a couple of instances, those attachments were great until the other person caught feelings.

It’s not that she wants to be unlovable, it’s just she can’t stand the romance. The mushiness. The idea of being that co-dependent. Of always wanting the person around and never having any breathing space. It’s totally alien to her.

“You rolled over afterwards and told me that you could see yourself falling in love with me.” Sasha says. “I love you, just not like that.”

Tim’s a friend, sure. It’s just Sasha’s in no way ready to define her existence as starting and ending with him.

“How come I always end up single on Valentine’s day?” Tim asks. Sasha shrugs. She’s been single every Valentine’s day since she was fourteen.

“I don’t date, and it didn’t feel right stringing you along thinking we could be something.” Sasha says. “No offense, but I’m not sure a QPC is going to be the right fit for us either. You’ll have to nurse your crushes on Martin and Jon instead.”

“Think I can ever get either of them to take me seriously? At this point, I don’t think anything short of dancing around in my underwear in front of them is going to work.” Tim says.

“That would be a sight.” Sasha says. One she wouldn’t be adverse in seeing - for all that she doesn’t want to date Tim, she’ll be the first to admit she finds him hot. “Speaking of, you missed Martin prancing around in his underwear earlier today.”

Not that she saw much of that. Averted her eyes like a proper lady and everything. She doubts Tim would have given the same treatment to Martin - Lord knows Jon didn’t.

“Don’t lie to me Sasha.” Tim says. Sasha gives him a shit-eating grin. “Bloody hell, really?”

“You could consider asking for a repeat performance since you missed it.” Sasha says. She knows she’s being just a little bit evil, but Tim can take it. “Maybe you should consider taking some action on Valentine's day instead of letting your multitude of fans fawn over you.”

“A gentleman never tells, Sasha.”

Sasha raises her eyebrows. Tim was late in this morning, so maybe he got a date squeezed in early. If she can just get hold of his phone, she can look at his location data and confirm that. Whoever it is, Tim can’t like them _that_ much, because she’s seen him fawn, and this isn’t it.

“I thought you said you were single this year?” Sasha says. “Are you hiding something? You know I’ll find out.”

Or maybe a fake Tindr to draw Tim out? No, he’d probably see through that. She’s tried it before.

“I’m sure you will.” Tim says. “In fact I’m counting on that fact on the occasion that I go missing this evening.”

“Is that a risk?” Sasha says.

“I mean, in general?” Tim shrugs. “I may have a clandestine meeting with a secret admirer this evening.”

“Details.” Sasha says. “Now.”

It’s almost certainly what Sasha has arranged, but she still needs to play the part. While the three of them might work out that she’s the one who planted the gifts, it can’t be until after they’ve had that little dinner date. Afterall, it wasn’t exactly easy to sneak away and set up the date on the roof for them. And she still needs to set out the cold food closer to six.

Goddamn, Sasha hopes that Tim hasn’t had a second invitation from an actual secret admirer. It’s unlikely, but Tim’s also a catch. She wouldn’t be totally surprised if there were other people pursuing him, rather than just her (on Jon and Martin’s behalves.)

Although it’s nice to have confirmation that he’s picked up the gifts - no one has gone parading theirs round, although she did see Martin holding the socks (and also the chocolate from Jon’s teddy), so at least some things have been found.

Tim grins. “I thought I told you - a gentleman never tells.”

* * *

Sasha makes her excuses - worked late yesterday, got to walk my neighbour's dog before dark- to be the first one to leave. It gives her a scant twenty minutes to set up the cold food that she hid in a break room not frequented by the Archives staff.

Then she settles in to wait.

Opposite the staircase up to the roof is a small meeting room. There's a small window in the door, the glass set around a wire grid. It isn't really camouflage, but she knows if she stands still and at the right angle, the chance of being spotted and recognised is low.

And if she is, well, she does work here. Maybe she had a secret meeting with HR that she couldn’t let on about.

She watches them go up. Tim, then Martin, then Jon. All in under the span of about five minutes, but far enough apart that they don't bump into each other on the way.

After Jon ascends, Sasha waits ten minutes before she herself leaves. It looks like they've taken up the offer of the date and no one is coming down soon.

Thank fucking Christ. She can only hope they won't be insufferable as a throuple.


End file.
